The Lieutenant and the Lady
by ASX
Summary: First Lieutenant Tom Pullings feels at sea only when on dry land; Lady Evelyn Fanshaw has insecurities of her own. As Tom reluctantly attempts to navigate the dangerous shoals of London society, will Evie be the one who causes him to run aground?
1. Prologue: Not A Moment To Lose

**Author Notes**: Hello everyone! I'm new to the site, and this is my first Master and Commander story. While I am a HUGE fan of the Aubrey/Maturin novels, this story takes place in the movieverse (because it's easier, and because James D'Arcy is unholy beautiful). I've tried to keep the characters' backgrounds close to the books where appropriate, however. All feedback and constructive criticism is heartily welcomed! I've already got 10 chapters written (in addition to this prologue) so I'll try to post new chapters fairly frequently if there's any interest in the story.

**Warning**: This story takes place directly after the movie, and therefore might contain spoilers, so consider this a blanket warning. There might also be some spoilers for the series of books, but I'll warn about those before the chapter if they come up.

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Prologue

_Not A Moment To Lose_

First Lieutenant Thomas Pullings answered the door to his hotel room expecting a maid with a basin of hot water; the man he found standing there in the hallway was about as far from his expectations as it was possible to be. He was tall and broad, his commanding air heightened by his splendid naval uniform, the shining epaulettes proclaiming him to be a captain. Tom needed no hint from the epaulettes to know this, of course, having served almost his entire seafaring life under Captain Jack Aubrey. What he did not know was the reason for this sudden visit (or the location of the longed-for basin of hot water).

He saluted smartly, despite his shameful lack of formal attire. "Captain Aubrey, sir! I did not expect you." His voice was apologetic. Standing before his immediate superior in nothing but shirtsleeves and breeches- with bare feet, no less- made him feel uncomfortably like a callow midshipman about to be severely reprimanded.

As it happened, he wasn't far off. "Mr. Pullings," the captain said, nodding in acknowledgement. "I have come to tell you that it simply will not do." His stern, powerful voice echoed so in the hallway that Tom immediately stepped back to allow the man into his room. Captain Aubrey brushed past him, and Tom closed the door.

For a moment he felt ashamed of his pitiful accommodations, which consisted only of a small bedstead with an obviously straw-stuffed mattress and his sea chest against the wall. However, he comforted himself with the knowledge that the captain would hardly expect him to have better; he knew precisely what Tom's salary was. He therefore put it from his mind and addressed the issue at hand. "Forgive me, sir, but what simply will not do?" he asked, genuinely confused.

The captain gave him a reproving look. "Your refusal of Admiral Lord Fanshaw's invitation to tonight's ball, Mr. Pullings. It absolutely, positively will. Not. Do."

Tom felt his confusion deteriorate into alarm. "…I sent it with my very best compliments, sir." He could have kicked himself for making such a feeble excuse. It was unworthy of him, he knew, but then so was his refusal really. And yet he had refused the invitation without a second thought, had never even considered accepting it.

Shaking his head in disapproval, Captain Aubrey considered Tom's uniform coat, which was draped across the bed. "Your very best compliments bedamned, Tom. When one of the highest ranking lords of the Admiralty invites you to a ball specifically to celebrate an action you yourself took part in, you do not send your very best compliments and a refusal."

"Sir," Tom began, "I had not thought… I mean, it had occurred to me… That is, I am not much for Society, sir."

"That is certainly not true," the captain objected. "I have known you for years, Tom, and you have always been a sociable creature. Not one for society indeed."

Sighing, Tom tried to think of the best way to explain what he meant, a way that would hopefully neither expose himself to ridicule nor make the captain uncomfortable. "Sir, I did not mean that I do not enjoy society, the society of my peers in the gunroom, for example, or your very excellent company when I am honored with an invitation to dine with you. I meant High Society, London Society."

"And what of it?" Captain Aubrey demanded. "London society is the only kind to be had in London town."

"You mistake my meaning once more, sir," Tom replied, distressed. "This ball will be attended by many of London's elite, lords and ladies, peers of the realm. As the son of a well-known general, a Member of Parliament with his own estate, it undoubtedly seems quite natural to you," he added, in absolution, not accusation. "But I am the son of a poor tenant farmer, a younger son yet. I hardly belong in the gunroom, much less a ballroom." It was a perfectly valid argument, of course, but one he wished he had not had to make aloud.

The captain looked attentively at Tom. "I am well aware of your history, Tom," he said, gently. "And you must attend this ball both in spite of your history and because of it. I am doing my best to get you made, but my influence is negligible and you have no interest of your own. This ball is the perfect opportunity to make such connections as can assist you in achieving your own command."

Tom looked at his captain with something like wonder. He had known, of course, that Captain Aubrey was fond of him and respected him as a sailor and an officer. For his part, Tom had always looked upon Captain Aubrey as the perfect example of a fighting captain and was grateful to have him as his mentor. Yet somehow it had never occurred to him that the captain would actually go out of his way to assist him in gaining his own command. Yes, he had sent Tom into Valparaiso with the _Acheron_ (and it had been glorious, glorious to have his own ship for even a short voyage, the unpleasantness with the French captain notwithstanding), but he'd hardly had a choice in that case. It would have been a dreadful affront to send the Second Lieutenant in with a prize over the First.

"Sir, I don't…" he trailed off, searching for the right words in vain. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll put on your dress uniform and come to the ball," Captain Aubrey urged. "You must, you know. This whole business with the _Acheron_ has become quite infamous. Everyone knows that the French captain lied to remain onboard, then released our prisoners and attempted to retake command. Likewise everyone knows of your decisive victory against them, your daring sword fight with the captain right against the rails of the ship… You are quite the hero, if you will simply capitalize upon it."

"And yet I would be so horribly out of place," Tom muttered uncomfortably.

The unexpected sound of the captain's laughter filled the tiny room. "And so will we all be, Mr. Pullings. For consider: I might be the son of a general and Member of Parliament, but you and I and nearly every other naval officer who will be there tonight went to sea when barely out of leading strings. We all belong on ships, with the natural roll of the ocean under our feet, not the unyielding marble tiling of a ballroom floor, regardless of our family situations."

Tom smiled at that, recognizing the truth of the words. From the first moment he'd set foot aboard a ship, he'd known he could never belong to the land, working it and eking a living out of it, like his father. He was ashamed to realize it had never occurred to him that this epiphany wasn't unique to him. "You are quite right, sir. I had not considered it in quite that light before."

"Well now that you have," the captain began, "pray be quick about getting into your dress uniform. Mr. Mowett is waiting for us in the carriage outside, and you must know-"

"There is not a moment to lose," Tom finished with a smile.

***

Lady Evelyn Fanshaw stood before her pier glass and examined herself critically. She would never be beautiful like her mother, of course, but for once she thought she might not be an utter disgrace. The new gown her friend Bethany had helped her select was quite flattering, its simple crossover v-neck bodice, high waist and delicate puffed sleeves perfectly accentuating her full, lush figure even as the soft peach of the silk accentuated her coloring. It lent an agreeable warmth to her pale complexion and even seemed to brighten the red of her hair until it shone copper in the light from the chandelier hanging from her ceiling. Her maid had dressed it earlier, coiling it into an elegant chignon before threading it with a ribbon of spring green velvet and allowing a few softly waving ringlets to spill free. Evie smiled shyly at her own reflection. Perhaps tonight, for once, she would not be a wallflower.

"Goodness, child!" the voice of her mother, Lady Fanshaw, interrupted Evie's pleasant daydream. "Is that what you're wearing? It simply will not do! You must change at once, my dear. Our guests will be arriving shortly." She examined her own image in the mirror, much as her daughter had done, looking far more pleased than her daughter ever had.

"Mother?" Evie inquired, confused. "Do you not like it? Lady Bethany Firth helped me choose the fabric and pattern; she assured me it was in the first stare of fashion. I find myself rather fond of it, to be quite honest."

"Perhaps the dress itself is in the first stare of fashion, darling," Lady Fanshaw began pointedly. "You, however, are not. For one thing, you are far too voluptuous for a neckline of that kind, and heaven knows voluptuousness is not at all the style these days. Has your hair always been so gaudy? Well, never mind," she added briskly when Evie gave her a blank look. "We can use one of your caps to hide it, and Jane can fetch one of your more modest dresses."

Hurt, Evie glanced back at her reflection uncertainly. "I would prefer to wear this, if you have no serious objection, Mother. Only married women wear caps, you know. I realize blonde is much more the thing but as my hair is not blonde I suppose I shall have to work with what I have, shall I not?" She tried to keep her tone light but didn't believe she'd entirely succeeded.

Her mother looked at her sharply. "You dare speak in this impertinent manner to your own mother?" she demanded, sounding scandalized. "It is not to be borne! I have already conveyed to you my objections; ring for Jane, she will help you change. And it is not only married women who wear caps. Spinsters wear them as well, and at two and twenty I cannot imagine what else you might be."

"I am hardly a spinster," Evie murmured, fighting a losing battle to keep the anger from her voice. "I have a few years before I find myself leading apes in hell, I believe."

"That remains to be seen," her mother snapped. "But I assure you, two and twenty is far too old to be wearing such a delicate, debutantish shade and flaunting your garish hair with no cap!" With that, she swept out of the room, pausing only to jerk once on the bell pull to summon Jane.

Devastated, Evie examined herself in the mirror, keeping part of her mind detached to observe the effects of extreme distress on her appearance. Her face had gone even whiter, of course, drained of all color by anger, and her lips were taut with the effort of holding back tears. They shone in her eyes, distorting their accustomed clear green color, but didn't fall through sheer willpower alone. That was all she needed, to give into a serious crying fit less than an hour before the ball, and then be forced to appear with a blotchy face, puffy eyes and running nose.

There was a hesitant tap on her door, and Evie called out "Enter!" in a rough voice, assuming it was Jane. Much to her surprise, however, her father Admiral Fanshaw entered instead. He had a deeply concerned expression on his normally jovial face.

"Evie?" he asked gently. "Are you quite well, my love?"

"Oh, Father," she sighed, the tears once more threatening. "Mother was just here to inspect my attire and I…"

"And you…?" her father prompted.

"And I left something to be desired. As always," she added bitterly.

"Evie, Evie, Evie," the admiral murmured soothingly, enfolding her into his arms. "Your mother may not always say the right thing, may not always comfort you. But she loves you, and she had your best interests at heart."

Shaking her head, Evie looked at her father questioningly. "Does she? Does she really? I felt wonderful before she arrived; I felt almost pretty, for once. And then she pointed out that I'm far too fat, my hair is too gaudy, I'm already a spinster… She may have my best interests at heart, I suppose, but the effect could hardly be worse if she didn't."

The admiral shrugged helplessly. "I am sorry she hurt you, my love. And for all my opinion is worth I disagree with her, quite strongly. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, and you ought never let anyone tell you otherwise, including your mother."

Evie brightened momentarily. "Does that mean I get to wear this gown to the ball?"

"I'm afraid not," her father sighed. "I disagree with her, of course, but your mother is the acknowledged expert in all things related to fashion and fripperies. If she says you must change, you must change. But never let it depress you, my love."

"I cannot simply will my anger and sadness away, Father. Would that I could." Evie pointed out.

"Perhaps not," the admiral conceded. "But you must do the best you can. And again, if your mother says you must change, there is nothing for it. I believe Jane has already been summoned and ought to be here momentarily. Please just do as your mother bids, start no wars tonight. Our first guests are already beginning to arrive, and you know how important punctuality is. There is not-"

"A moment to lose," Evie muttered sullenly. "I know, I know."

"Good girl," her father said, patting her cheek affectionately. "I shall see you downstairs for the receiving line. Change as quickly as ever you can."

The admiral exited her room with a last fond glance, and Evie was left to consider her reflection in despair. With her mother's voice in her head, it was easy to see how immodest her neckline was, how flashy and tacky her hair was, how much it seemed as though she were trying to look younger than her far advanced years. _My god_, she thought, fighting back tears once more, _do you not think I should change if I could?_


	2. 01: The Daughter of the House

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter One

_The Daughter of the House_

Despite his faith in the wisdom of Captain Aubrey's words, Tom could not help but believe he felt more out of place in Admiral Fanshaw's home than either of his colleagues. What little time he had spent ashore over the years had been spent first in his family's three room dirt-floored cottage and then in tiny little quarters similar to his current lodgings. The captain and Mr. Mowett had undoubtedly spent their time ashore in far more luxurious surroundings. As it was, he could hardly refrain from gaping like a peasant at the incredible beauty and wealth displayed in Admiral Fanshaw's London townhouse, while his companions seemed unmoved.

How anyone could be unmoved by the spectacle of the terraced wedding cake-like mansion all lit up in the dark and the interplay of torchlight with the flowing water of the bronze and marble fountain in the front yard, Tom did not know. He did know better than to allow himself to gawk as much as he wished to and forced himself to remain as impassive as he could. Inside, however, he was filled with wonder at the entrance hall with its intricate tapestries and gilded furniture. Even the butler, dignified and severe in his powdered wig and velvet uniform, so much finer than anything Tom had ever owned, secretly intimidated him into silence.

After being announced, the three men went down the receiving line together. The Admiral stood at the beginning of it, of course, a portly, florid man with a benevolent expression and an appearance of having been poured into his uniform. He greeted the captain with great warmth. "Captain Aubrey, how pleased I am to see you!" he cried, bowing. "And you have brought your clever lieutenants, just as I'd hoped. You three are truly the guests of honor tonight; the entire ballroom is abuzz with the tale of your great victory!"

Tom made his bow along with Captain Aubrey and William, noting the becomingly modest expression on the captain's face. "It was a victory, sure, but not so very great… Nothing to that brave hero Nelson's, of course. And my part in it was nothing compared to that of Mr. Pullings."

At this, Tom shot an uncertain look at William, worried his friend might feel slighted by the captain's comment. But Will merely smiled happily and nodded. "Indeed, my lord, Tom's actions were of all things extraordinary."

Blushing, Tom gave his friend a grateful smile. "The captain and Mr. Mowett give me too much credit, my lord," he murmured to Admiral Fanshaw. "I was lucky enough to have a prime crew of man-o-war's men, all of them trained by Captain Aubrey. Without such a crew I doubt success would have been at all possible."

"Nonsense," Captain Aubrey denied. "The lieutenant is far too modest."

"Having heard the tale, I have no doubt of it!" Admiral Fanshaw exclaimed, smiling at Tom. "I hope to speak with you further, sir, once I have done my duties as host. But for now allow me to present my wife, Lady Fanshaw. My dear, these are our guests of honor: Captain Aubrey of the _HMS Surprise_ and his lieutenants Mr. Pullings and Mr. Mowett."

The three turned to the woman at Admiral Fanshaw's side. She was a few years younger than her husband and was still quite handsome in that way ladies of a certain age who were once raving beauties sometimes are. Her hair was near white but retained enough color to be truthfully considered blonde, and her expression was pleasant if somewhat reserved. "Lady Fanshaw," the captain said, taking her hand and bowing over it in a courtly gesture, "you have my deepest gratitude for inviting us into your lovely home."

"Captain Aubrey," the woman acknowledged with a shallow curtsey. "It is my pleasure to receive you, sir, and your officers."

Tom stepped forward, knowing it was his turn to make his bow and feeling much more nervous before Lady Fanshaw than her husband. Of course he had noticed the precision of the interaction between the lady and his captain. It was obvious that the depth of the captain's bow had been determined by some strange mathematical equation of the ratio of his status to hers, the depth of her curtsey based on the same ratio. With a kind of worried fear, Tom reflected that even as a young midshipman he'd never been mathematically inclined, and of course he had no knowledge of anyone's status within society. He could feel his heartbeat racing faster than it had on the deck of the _Acheron_ during his infamous swordfight.

With an uneasy glance at William, Tom bowed, carefully dipping slightly lower than Captain Aubrey had on the reasoning that the captain outranked him but only just. "Lady Fanshaw," he murmured, unable to form any gallant pleasantries. As he rose and smiled at her nervously, he realized that she was staring at the scar stretching across his face with barely concealed shock. He felt his cheeks flood with heat and knew he must be turning an incredible shade of red; he barely heard Lady Fanshaw's acknowledgement of him, and was quite grateful to be able to move aside to allow William to make his bow.

He rarely thought about the long, hideous scar stretching from just below his right eye, across the bridge of his nose and through his left eyebrow. It had been delivered a year ago at the edge of a Turkish scimitar while fighting to take a prize, and many of the men he currently served with had been present for that battle. Amongst his shipmates there was no reason to consider it. But tonight was the first time since receiving it that he'd interacted with anyone not in the service, and he was rather unnerved by Lady Fanshaw's reaction. As Tom had never given it a second thought before tonight, he was somewhat disturbed to realize the effect it must obviously have on people's opinion of him.

Will finished his polite interaction with Lady Fanshaw, and the three men continued down the receiving line. All three stopped short, stunned by the woman waiting there. The Admiral and his wife were both handsome, stylish people, and if Tom had stopped to think about it at all, he would have assumed any child of theirs would be the same. Instead, the woman who could only be the daughter of the house was extraordinarily plain and dressed in an unflattering, unfashionable high-necked yellow gown that accentuated both the sallowness of her complexion and the lumpiness of her form. Her hair was almost entirely covered by a shapeless cap, but the few strands that escaped appeared to be a dull, rusty brown. It was impossible to determine the color of her eyes as they were hidden behind the spectacles perched on her nose. Such an incongruously dowdy appearance was so surprising that it effectively jolted Tom from his dark thoughts about his scar, and he had to consciously force his mouth to remain closed.

Seeing their hesitation and perhaps guessing the reason for it, she greeted them with a wry expression. "Gentlemen, welcome to our home." Tom found himself surprised again, this time by the low, musical tone of her voice. It seemed far too beautiful to come from such a plain creature.

The captain recovered first, bowing quite properly before saying "Lady Evelyn, I nearly did not recognize you; I have not seen you these six or seven years at least. But I hardly hope that you remember me, my dear."

"Of course I remember you, Captain Aubrey," Lady Evelyn answered, smiling. "My father continues to speak quite highly of you. And this recent action with the _Acheron_ has certainly not lessened his respect."

"If we're to speak of the _Acheron_, my lady, you must allow me to introduce Mr. Pullings, my first lieutenant." He nudged Tom forward, indicating he should make his bow. "It was Mr. Pullings who took command of the _Acheron_ after we captured her, and defended her from her original French captain, who had hidden on board."

Tom felt himself grow red again, both at his mentor's praise and at the feeling that perhaps Lady Evelyn too was staring at his scar. "I did nothing more than my duty," he protested.

Lady Evelyn smiled at him, and Tom was struck by a sudden fleeting glimpse of what might be called beauty in her face. It was gone in an instant, however, as she spoke to him. "You must tell me the truth, Mr. Pullings, for parts of the tale I can scarcely believe. Surely it is an exaggeration that you fought the French captain sword to sword on the rails of the ship, with the sea no more than a single misstep away?"

William laughed, clapping Tom on the back and answering for him. "I assure you, my lady, it is no exaggeration. I beheld the feat with my own eyes through a spyglass from the deck of the _Surprise_. I confess I never suspected Tom- that is, Mr. Pullings- of such swordsmanship!"

Blushing even more hotly, Tom shot a quelling glance at his friend. "It sounds much more daring in the telling, my lady, than it seemed at the time."

"That I can well believe," she answered. "Otherwise, you would hardly have been able to bring yourself to attempt it. I suspect you must be very brave, Mr. Pullings."

Unsure of the best response to such a compliment, Tom was grateful when William stepped forward to make his bow and they were finally herded past the receiving line and into the ballroom.


	3. 02: A Kind of Dangerous Distinction

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Two

_A Kind of Dangerous Distinction_

Evie stood rigidly, properly, in her spot at the end of the receiving line, and fought the urge to pull and tug at her ill-fitting dress. It had never been attractive on her, of course; the bright lemon yellow had always been a horrible color for her, making her look sallow and cross, but it had fit reasonably well when it was made the previous season. She had difficulty believing she had grown so very much since then, but her bosom must have at least as the fabric was now stretched uncomfortably across that area. The skirt was also bunched up oddly, having been cut to go over a different set of stays and petticoats with a much different skirt. Unfortunately there hadn't been enough time for her to change anything more than her outermost layer, and so she was stuck in an unflattering dress made even more unflattering by the improper undergarments. Not that it mattered, of course; Evie was of the firm opinion that everything was unflattering when worn with a cap.

It didn't help that she'd also found it necessary to wear her spectacles. She really only needed them for reading, but she had found that even though no tears had fallen earlier, here eyes were still suspiciously red. The spectacles were fairly hideous, sure, but they at least hid the evidence of her distress and ensured no one would ask anything untoward during the ball. In some ways she had found it pleasant to be able to scrutinize people rather closely without them being able to read her in return; it was a miracle how distancing those thin lenses of glass really were. Evie had especially enjoyed her mother's reaction to them: pure, unmitigated horror. Served her right, Evie believed.

The most trying aspect of the evening thus far was the reaction her bizarre appearance received from nearly everyone: none at all. It was quite distressing to stand there, feeling as though she had never looked worse in her life, only to realize that most people noticed no difference. Except, perhaps, the three men approaching her now; though there was nothing improper in their expressions, Evie somehow knew they were all three shocked by her appearance, and it soothed her. One was tall, bluff and blond, with a red face, blue eyes and shining golden epaulettes proclaiming the rank of captain. Evie recognized him, she thought, from far earlier days, but couldn't quite put a name to the face. He had two subordinates with him, his lieutenants she'd guess, and Evie was certain she'd never seen those two men before. One was fairly nondescript, a bit portly with brown hair and a benign expression, but the other was so handsome it fair hurt to look directly at him.

He was tall, slightly taller than the captain even, and lithe, with long limbs and a graceful yet masculine walk. His face was well-proportioned, with high cheekbones, full lips and an elegant nose, and despite his scrupulously blank expression there was something good-humored about him. The gray blue of his eyes was set off beautifully by his Royal Navy uniform, and his long dark hair (pulled back properly into a plain queue) provided a splendid contrast with his pale skin. A scar ran from below one eye, across the bridge of his nose to the other side of his face, and Evie thought it added a kind of dangerous distinction to a countenance which would otherwise have been handsome yet forgettable. As it was, she didn't think she'd ever be able to forget this man; there was something about him that drew her in a way she couldn't explain. God how she wished she were pretty!

His attractiveness, and her awareness of her own lack of same, was so great that she was unable to truly smile at him or his two companions. The best she could manage was what she hoped was an arch, welcoming expression but she rather doubted she had pulled it off. "Gentlemen, welcome to our home," she greeted nervously, curtseying with as much elegance as she could muster.

The captain bowed with a charming flourish. "Lady Evelyn, I nearly did not recognize you; I have not seen you these six or seven years at least. But I hardly hope that you remember me, my dear."

Something about the man's voice was so familiar, and of course the face… Suddenly, she realized she was speaking to one of the guests of honor of the evening. "Of course I remember you, Captain Aubrey. My father continues to speak quite highly of you. And this recent action with the _Acheron_ has certainly not lessened his respect." That was a shocking understatement; ever since the news had reached them in London, Admiral Fanshaw had spoken at least once daily of the captain's courage and skill.

The man himself simply shrugged modestly. "If we're to speak of the _Acheron_, my lady," he began, "you must allow me to introduce Mr. Pullings, my first lieutenant." The captain indicated the man who had so enthralled her, and he bowed with restrained grace. "It was Mr. Pullings who took command of the _Acheron_ after we captured her, and defended her from her original French captain, who had hidden on board," Captain Aubrey continued.

Evie nodded, so unsettled by the handsome lieutenant that she couldn't quite bring herself to speak. He saved her the trouble by protesting: "I did nothing more than my duty."

His unassuming response was utterly unselfconscious and utterly charming, and Evie couldn't help but smile. "You must tell me the truth, Mr. Pullings," she entreated "for parts of the tale I can scarcely believe. Surely it is an exaggeration that you fought the French captain sword to sword on the rails of the ship, with the sea no more than a single misstep away?" She could picture the action very clearly in her mind, could easily visualize the striking, slightly dangerous young man before her risking all bravely. It was a very romantic image, of course.

The third man laughed at Mr. Pullings' diffident expression. "I assure you, my lady, it is no exaggeration," he announced, smiling at his friend. "I beheld the feat with my own eyes through a spyglass from the deck of the _Surprise_. I confess I never suspected Tom- that is, Mr. Pullings- of such swordsmanship!"

Mr. Pullings surprised Evie by actually blushing at his friend's compliment. "It sounds much more daring in the telling, my lady, than it seemed at the time," he assured her earnestly.

Evie feared she was more than halfway in love with the man already. "That I can well believe," she said, equally earnest. "Otherwise, you would hardly have been able to bring yourself to attempt it. I suspect you must be very brave, Mr. Pullings."

Mr. Pullings nodded uncomfortably, and Evie felt completely idiotic for saying something so admiring. Modest he might be, but he was still one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen, and a hero into the bargain; he obviously had no interest in a pathetic spinster throwing herself at him. Chastened by his silence, she turned her attention to the third man, who turned out to be Second Lieutenant William Mowett. After exchanging the customary pleasantries with him, she watched sadly as all three men proceeded into the ballroom, her eyes following the lithe, straight back of Lieutenant Pullings far longer than was necessary.

"Evie?" a familiar voice asked, bringing her out of her reverie. There was nothing specific about said reverie; in fact, it could hardly be called a reverie at all, as she was thinking nothing, only feeling a longing so strong she could hardly believe it. Thankfully, her friend's voice called her to reason.

"Beth! I'm so glad you are come," she exclaimed happily, tamping down on the jealousy she felt every time she looked at the lovely Lady Bethany. Tonight her friend wore a beautiful gown of silver tissue-silk over lavender satin, the cool, shimmering color combination setting off her porcelain complexion, deep black hair and equally black eyes to perfection. Evie rarely envied her friend her beauty; it wasn't her fault that she should be so beautiful when Evie herself was so plain. Still, tonight she fairly coveted Beth's dress, knowing that while the silver tissue-silk might not become her as well as it became her friend, the lavender would look well with her hair, and naturally anything would be better than the monstrosity she was currently dressed in.

"Goodness, Evie," her friend began, sounding shocked. "What on earth are you wearing?! Surely I never countenanced such a dress?"

"In fact you did," Evie corrected. "Last season."

Beth rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Well last season, of course! Yellow was quite de la mode then, as were shaped skirts and high necks. This season, however, has an entirely different sensibility, and that dress violates it most egregiously. I had thought you intended to wear the peach?"

Glancing anxiously over at her mother, Evie lead Beth into the ballroom. "I had," she admitted, "but my mother had other plans. I hope you can bear to be seen with me, in spite of my sad lack of fashion."

"I can," Beth answered dubiously. "But you must give me leave to doubt that anyone else will be able to bear it."

Evie shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "But what is new in that?"

"Oh hush," Beth responded. "I must go find my partner for the first set, but shall we plan to meet after supper? You're wearing your spectacles for no apparent reason, which means you've been crying again, which means we must have a serious heart-to-heart, you know."

Smiling at her friend and feeling much cheered by her presence, Evie nodded. "Yes, lets. I have much to acquaint you with, of course; it seems an age since last we met!"

"Three whole days is an age indeed!" Beth agreed. "Until supper then, my friend?"

"Indeed," Evie replied, watching Beth fade into the crowd. She made her way to her customary place by the wall, all the while wondering whether she would tell her friend about the strange attraction she felt towards the brave Lieutenant Pullings. Somehow, she rather thought not. After all, what on earth could she say?


	4. 03: The New and Rather Daring Waltz

**Author Notes**: Thanks so much to **ElbePhoebe** for her inspiring message Apparently I don't have reviews enabled, and I'm trying to figure out how to fix that… I definitely want reviews! Anyway, in her honor I'm posting the next two chapters.

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Three

_The New and Rather Daring Waltz_

"There, Tom!" Captain Aubrey exclaimed, turning to him with a wide smile. "How is that for a reception? I told you, did I not, that you were quite the hero? The admiral seems quite pleased with you."

"I confess I never expected such a welcome," Tom admitted.

Will laughed. "Then you didn't think, my friend. It is no exaggeration when I say that your actions were the completest thing! I was mortally jealous, Tom, watching you from the _Surprise_."

Before Tom could form a reply, Captain Aubrey spoke again. "Now, Mr. Pullings, I believe you must ask Lady Evelyn for a dance."

Tom stared at the captain in shock (everything seemed to be shocking to him tonight). "Excuse me, sir?" There was no way he, the scarred son of a tenant farmer, could ask a Lady, a genuine capital 'L' Lady, for a dance.

The captain nodded encouragingly. "Yes, she seemed quite taken with you, and I'm sure there can be no better way to endear yourself to her father."

"_Quite_ taken with you," William emphasized. "'I suspect you must be very brave', indeed!"

"Sir, I don't think-" Tom began hesitantly.

Will grinned at his friend. "Good, don't think… You think too much, you know."

"Ask the woman to dance," Captain Aubrey insisted. "That is an order, Mr. Pullings. If you disobey, I shall have you court marshaled for disobedience."

Tom looked at his captain miserably. "Sir, please…"

"Never think for a moment that I'm joking, Tom," Captain Aubrey said gravely. "This is for your own good, my boy. Look, she's standing against the wall there, quite alone. Go to it!"

Tom wanted to protest further, but he had spent nearly 15 years obeying Captain Aubrey's orders without question. To his distress, he found it a habit that was nearly impossible to break. "Yes, sir," he responded, saluting before making his way across the ballroom. He looked back once to see William smiling at him reassuringly before a crowd of revelers came between them.

Squaring his shoulders, Tom approached Lady Evelyn. She stood alone against the wall, watching her guests glide across the dance floor with a nearly blank expression on her plain face and did not notice him until he spoke. "Lady Evelyn," he greeted, bowing.

She looked at him in surprise, curtseying automatically. "Lieutenant Pullings," she acknowledged with a smile. "How are you enjoying the ball?"

"It is…" he hesitated before settling upon "quite an experience, my lady."

"Indeed?" she responded. "I hope it is an _enjoyable_ experience, at least."

"Yes, of course… I… Ah…" Tom stammered as he searched for some comment to make, some way to request a dance. "I am surprised to see that you are not dancing."

Lady Evelyn stiffened. "Are you, so?" Her voice sounded almost hurt.

Tom realized unhappily that he had just insulted her, most unintentionally. "Forgive me, my lady, I had not meant any disrespect. I was merely… Ah… Surprised. As I said."

"You must not move much in London society, Mr. Pullings. Otherwise, you'd know that I rarely dance. Not," she added wryly, "from a lack of inclination, of course."

Tom groped vainly for some response, and ended up repeating himself. "Forgive me, Lady Evelyn. You are quite right, I do not move much in London society… Or any society at all, really."

"No, I suppose you would not have done," she murmured. "I daresay you've been at sea your entire life."

"Yes, my lady," he agreed earnestly, nodding. "Though I must say I feel less at sea when I am actually at sea than I do here in this ballroom. I hope you can forgive my ignorance."

Surprisingly, Lady Evelyn laughed. Tom had meant his comment quite sincerely, but still felt a sense of accomplishment at having amused her. The sound of her laughter was clear and bright, and reminded him unaccountably of the shining brass bell that told the time on the _Surprise_. It was also quite loud, and Tom shifted uncomfortably as he realized that the other guests were all looking over at the two of them with curiosity.

"Well, Mr. Pullings, I suppose I must forgive you, as you feel at sea on dry land," she said when she was finally able to speak.

Tom bowed and smiled at her, feeling slightly more at ease. "You are very good, Lady Evelyn." He paused to gather his courage before adding "And I hope you forgive me enough to honor me with your hand for the next set."

At his words, Lady Evelyn's expression turned into a strange combination of shock, confusion and anger. "There is no need for any gallantry, Mr. Pullings," she answered stiffly. "I have already forgiven you, after all."

"I had not meant…" Tom trailed off, rather at a loss. It had been hard enough to ask for the dance without having to convince her of his sincerity.

Slowly, her expression lost its anger, leaving behind only surprise and confusion. "Oh. You actually wish to dance with me?"

"Yes?" Tom answered uncertainly. He wasn't uncertain about wanting to dance with her, even if it was only to please Captain Aubrey. But after her reaction to his invitation he was uncertain of expressing the wish again.

"Oh," she repeated, blinking owlishly behind the lenses of her spectacles. "Forgive me, Mr. Pullings, I should be quite pleased to stand up with you."

With an uncertain smile, Tom bowed again and offered his arm to lead her out onto the floor. The first strains of music drifted out over the crowd, and Tom realized they indicated that the dance was to be a waltz. The dance was new and rather daring, and he felt a sudden rush of gratitude that he had learned it on the _Surprise_ in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Of course, he thought as he took his place with Lady Evelyn, she felt much better in his arms than any of his practice partners. She felt much better than he'd expected, in fact, soft and feminine despite her dowdiness, but perhaps this perception was merely an effect of having been so long at sea.

As they began the steps of the dance, Tom couldn't help but think back to his lessons on the _Surprise_ and laugh. Lady Evelyn looked up at him curiously. "Have I amused you somehow, Mr. Pullings?" she asked.

"Not at all, my lady; I was merely reflecting upon the very great differences between my learning this dance and my dancing it with you," he replied, smiling.

She echoed his smile, and again he was struck by an ephemeral hint of beauty within it. "And what are the differences?"

"Well, for one, my partner was not nearly so pleasant," he explained. "In fact, if you'll look towards the French doors…" he indicated the spot where William was dancing with a lovely blonde.

Lady Evelyn looked confused. "Miss Newton was aboard the _Surprise_ and taught you the waltz?"

Tom laughed again. "No, no! William- that is, Mr. Mowett- was my partner. There are no women aboard a man-o-war, at least not one commanded by Captain Aubrey, and the midshipmen all flatly refused to stand up with us, you see."

Once more Lady Evelyn's laughter rang out like a bell. "They refused indeed?"

"Oh yes," he assured her. "They refused even a direct order, despite our threats to have them up on a court marshal. In the end, Mr. Mowett and I were forced to learn together, with the captain and the doctor playing for us on their violin and cello."

"I hesitate to ask," Lady Evelyn began, "but which of you led?"

Tom grinned. "I did, of course. My rank is superior to Mr. Mowett's, if only just, not to mention I'm several inches taller."

"Whatever compelled you to learn the dance to begin with?" she inquired curiously.

"Well," he explained, "the captain had a packet of letters from his betrothed waiting for him in Valparaiso after the action with the _Acheron_. She referred to the dance and Captain Aubrey thought it best for Mr. Mowett to learn it before we reached home, in case of such a ball as this."

At that moment, another couple brushed past them, far too close, and pushed Lady Evelyn hard against Tom's chest. He could feel her soft, full form yielding to his strength, could just catch the delicate scent of vanilla that clung to her smooth skin, and he had an insane urge to bury his face in the crook of her neck and inhale deeply. From that wild inclination his mind created an entire fantasy of running his hands through her hair and kissing her throat, pressing his lips to hers roughly and tasting her… With something akin to panic, he realized that all the physical signs of desire were about to manifest themselves. Truly, he had been far, far too long at sea; Lady Evelyn wasn't even pretty. Tom set her away from him immediately, perhaps even further away than she had been at the beginning of the dance, and tried to focus his mind on other things.

"Mr. Pullings?" Lady Evelyn's lovely voice interrupted Tom's fervent concentration on an image of William Mowett dressed in that lady's hideous yellow gown. "I asked you whether Captain Aubrey thought it best for you to learn the waltz, as well."

"Forgive me," Tom began, feeling himself blush when he realized he had been so preoccupied with lust that he had missed her question entirely. "My mind was wandering. And yes, I suppose he did think it necessary for me, though I never considered it at the time," he explained absently, mind focused once more on 'Miss Mowett' out of necessity. The image didn't seem to be doing the trick at all; he was still aroused to the point that he almost believed she would notice.

"I see…" Lady Evelyn trailed off, looking at him with some concern. "Mr. Pullings, the dance is over," she whispered.

Recalled to reality, Tom observed that she was quite correct, and they were now standing almost completely alone in the middle of the dance floor. "Oh, yes, of course… I'm so sorry," he added, releasing her and blushing again.

"It is no great matter," she answered kindly. "I must thank you for the dance; Mr. Mowett was an excellent choice of learning partner, it would seem, for you waltzed quite well."

With a smile, Tom bowed. "You are too kind, my lady."

And they went their separate ways.


	5. 04: No Fit Connection

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Four

_No Fit Connection_

Evie made her way back to her accustomed spot against the wall, utterly oblivious to the stares and whispers that followed her there. She was far too overwhelmed with the glory and joy of her first public waltz. Mentally she was still reliving it, still remembering the expert way Mr. Pullings had guided her across the floor, his gentle yet firm grip as he'd held her, the feel of his warm hand clasping hers while his other rested carefully on her waist. There had been nothing improper in their closeness, nothing at all; in fact he hadn't held her nearly as close as she would have liked. But it was still the most exciting, romantic thing she'd ever experienced.

"My goodness, Evie!" Beth exclaimed, jolting her out of her reverie. "Who on earth was that?!"

"Lieutenant Pullings," Evie responded, voice soft and dreamy. "One of the guests of honor this evening… He was the one who fought the French captain of the _Acheron_ right up against the rails of the ship."

"My goodness," Beth repeated. "He certainly is handsome, isn't he?"

Assuming this question was purely rhetorical, Evie ignored it.

"How did you two come to dance?" Beth continued, looking at her friend with curiosity.

Evie smiled radiantly. "He _asked_ me," she confided. "Well first he offended me grievously, then he asked me."

"Offended you?" Beth asked.

Nodding, Evie chuckled slightly. "Oh, yes. He practically began our conversation by telling me he was surprised I wasn't dancing. It seemed a very cruel observation to me."

"As well it might!" Beth was shocked by this admission. "I own I am surprised you did not give him the cut direct after that."

"Well," Evie shrugged, "he apologized immediately, and most prettily too. He told me he felt at sea on dry land; he's very clever. But then I didn't believe him when he asked me to dance, I thought he was being cruel again."

Beth gave Evie an exasperated look. "Surely you didn't say anything to that effect?"

"I'm afraid I did," Evie replied, laughing at the memory. "I told him there was no need to be gallant, very shortly. But he merely assured me that he was quite serious in his request, and of course I finally agreed."

Shaking her head, Beth scolded her friend. "In the future it might be best to simply accept any invitations to dance that come your way, especially ones that come from handsome, heroic young men, rather than questioning their sanity for wanting to dance with you. But enough about that! How was the dance? What manner of man is this lieutenant?"

Again, Evie's smile lit up her entire face. "The dance was incredible," she began. "He's quite a skilled, graceful dancer, as I'm sure you noticed. And very charming, very modest… I confess, Beth, he's exactly the manner of man I've always wished to meet."

"Evie…" Beth hesitated before continuing. "I am quite pleased for you, of course, but it is only a single dance you know. You must not expect anything of it. You would only open yourself up to acute disappointment."

Evie shook her head, smiling softly. "Come, Beth, I am not a fool. Surely he must only have danced with me to gain my father's favor." Speaking these words aloud was surprisingly painful, but Evie was not the type to run away from the truth. "I expect absolutely nothing from him. But I admit I am glad, quite glad, to have had this dance, this experience. It is quite dull, you know, always leaving a ball feeling deflated. At least tonight I'll have something to dream about."

"And he may very well ask you for another dance," Beth hastened to point out. "No matter his motivations for asking you the first time, he cannot have failed to realize what a lovely and charming young woman you are."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Evie responded dryly. "Many men seem to have avoided this same realization. But I should like it of all things, were he to ask me again." Lowering her voice, she added "Will you be shocked if I say that I quite enjoyed being held by him?" She blushed at the admission.

Beth smiled at her friend's embarrassment. "I certainly shall not be shocked," she denied.

"Good," Evie stated, returning the smile. "But Lord, how I wish I could have worn the peach gown tonight. I felt so distressingly ugly in his arms. Surely everyone in the ballroom was watching, wondering why he danced with me. Or understanding his motivations all too well."

"Oh, do be quiet, Evie," Beth urged. "I watched you two waltzing, and he clearly enjoyed your company. You talked and laughed the entire dance, which is far more than I can say for most of the other couples. Men are simple creatures, and blind to fashion; I doubt he noticed your truly horrid cap and gown at all."

"I find that impossible to believe," Evie denied, "but I appreciate your attempt to comfort me."

Just as Beth was opening her mouth to respond, Lord Casewell approached and bowed. "Lady Bethany, Lady Evelyn," he acknowledged. "Pray forgive the interruption." He dismissed Evie, turning his full attention to Beth. "I hope you have not forgotten that you have promised this next set to me," he reminded, smiling in a way Evie found extraordinarily distasteful.

The barely concealed dislike on Beth's face clearly stated that she felt the same. Still, she took Casewell's proffered hand. "Excuse me, Lady Evelyn," she murmured formally. "His Lordship and I must take our places for the set."

Evie curtseyed, dipping just shallow enough to make her disdain for Casewell apparent. "Of course, Lady Bethany. Lord Casewell. I am sure you will find the set of all things pleasant."

"Undoubtedly," Casewell responded shortly, bowing in a perfunctory manner before leading Beth onto the dance floor.

Sighing, Evie reflected that she really ought not to have curtseyed so rudely, but it was difficult to show even the forms of respect to a man one could hardly stand. It was quite strange that she should feel that way; he was handsome in an austere kind of way, with pale gold hair and pale blue eyes, and a face like a marble statue, beautiful and cold. He also came from quite a good family, and of course had a noble title. And yet Evie hated him, always had done, perhaps because of the disconcerting way he had of looking through everyone to see nothing of the person and only what use they might be to him. She hated that he looked at Beth that way, and hated that he was doing his utmost to force Beth into an engagement with him. Her parents looked upon the match with a friendly eye, but were not quite to the point of delivering an ultimatum to her. Beth wanted to marry for love, of course, but it was beginning to look as though she'd have to accept the next eligible offer purely to avoid the match with Casewell. The machinations were all so very vexing and left her feeling quite uneasy for her friend.

"I hope you were polite to Lord Casewell, Evelyn," Lady Fanshaw's voice startled her daughter.

"Of course I was, mother," she lied smoothly.

"I saw you dancing with that Lieutenant Pullings," her mother began, frowning slightly. "You were smiling far too much. Furthermore, you are not to encourage him in any way, Evelyn. He is no fit connection for you."

Evie looked at her mother in surprise. She'd assumed her mother would be simply overjoyed at her dancing with anyone, let alone the hero of the evening. "No fit connection?"

Lady Fanshaw compressed her mouth into a line taut with disapproval. "Certainly not," she confirmed. "I was speaking with Captain Aubrey during your dance. Most officers are gentlemen, as you know. Naturally they make no substantial living, but many of them have family fortunes or at least a good family name. But the captain told me that Mr. Pullings first went to sea as a common ship's boy, and was only rated midshipman thanks to a fortunate recommendation from himself. His father was nothing more than a tenant farmer, can you imagine?"

In fact, Evie could; throughout their dance, she had had the sneaking suspicion he'd been slightly uncomfortable. This she had chalked up to his being unused to society on land, but now she realized it was because he was unused to society at all. "Is that so?" she asked noncommittally when she realized her mother was waiting for an answer.

"It is!" she stated emphatically. "Lieutenant Mowett, on the other hand, is quite the eligible match. His father is Admiral Mowett, of course, and his mother is one of the Suffolk Graces. He stands to inherit a viscountcy from his mother's uncle. Shouldn't you like to be a viscountess?"

"Perhaps I'd prefer to be a duchess," she murmured sarcastically.

"This is no time for your levity, child," her mother reprimanded her. "Pray go to your father; he is currently conversing with Captain Aubrey and Mr. Mowett. Perhaps Mr. Mowett will ask you to dance in hopes of pleasing the admiral."

Ignoring her mother's insinuation that Mr. Mowett would have no other reason to ask her to stand up with him (mostly because she knew it was true), Evie glanced to where her father stood with the two other men. Mr. Pullings was not part of the group, she noted with disappointment. Lieutenant Mowett was handsome enough, she supposed, and it would be nice to dance again of course. She could hardly remember the last time she'd stood up twice in one ball. But instinctively she knew that dancing with Mr. Mowett would pale in comparison to dancing with Mr. Pullings. It was likely dancing with anyone else would pale in comparison, which was a depressing thought.

"Yes mother," Evie curtseyed to Lady Fanshaw and made her way across the ballroom, secretly hoping that Mr. Mowett would not succumb to the desire to impress her father by asking her for a dance. Foolish though it may be, she wanted her last dance of the evening to be the waltz she had shared with Mr. Pullings.


	6. 05: Nothing Difficult

**Author's Note**: I'd just like to start by thanking nightkate for her lovely review. I'm glad someone's enjoying the story! I'm posting this next chapter in your honor :)

P.S. Generally I think it's best to post these chapters in pairs, since they alternate perspectives, but this chapter has a kind of cliffhanger so I thought it might be more fun to torture you just a little...

**Edit**: nightkate made an excellent point in her review, so I'm changing one tiny thing :)

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Five

_Nothing Difficult_

Hours later, Tom slipped out into the gardens, relieved to be out of the crush of the ballroom and the card room. Also relieved, truth be told, to be free of the company of Captain Aubrey. Much as he respected his mentor in all things naval, and much as he esteemed him as a kind of friend, he had never been easy with the man's flirtatious nature, and was even less so when that flirtatiousness overstepped the bounds of propriety. Tom was not naïve; he knew what went on in foreign ports, and of course he knew the saying "no man is married past Gibralter". He had observed it to be true. However, alien though the world of high society seemed to him, the admiral's ballroom was not a foreign port, London was nowhere near Gibralter, and anyway he had never been able to reconcile his beliefs about love and honor with the realities of his captain's behavior. If Tom loved someone the way he knew Captain Aubrey loved his fiancée, he did not think he could ever behave in such a manner. Having met and dined with Sophia on several occasions, bearing witness to any kind of betrayal of her made him deeply uncomfortable. Though he had been uncomfortable enough already.

He had no reason to feel uncomfortable, of course. Tom had been shocked by how well he had been received, and by the respect with which he was treated. The admiral himself had insisted upon his company at supper, entreating him to describe his actions aboard the _Acheron_ from every possible angle, and praising his skill and leadership. William had put him even further to the blush by describing the battle during which Tom had received his scar. His friend had meant to do him a kindness, he knew, and show him in an impressive light, but after the tale was told Tom felt people staring intently at his face even more than before.

Truthfully, his scar had been weighing on his mind for a great deal of the night. He had been handsome once, he knew. Perhaps he'd never driven the ladies wild with desire, but he'd been handsome enough all the same. His tall, slim (yet strong) form, long dark hair, blue eyes and sweetly crooked smile had been charming, certainly, and all of it had been enhanced by his Royal Navy uniform. But all of that was past tense. Ever since he'd seen Lady Fanshaw's reaction to his scar he'd felt burdened by the realization that his every feature must fade into the background until all others would ever notice was the jagged line slashed across his face. After all, it wasn't as though he had either wealth or position to distract them from it.

Shaking his head, Tom reflected that he was becoming quite morose when really he ought to be happy. He could tell from the way the admiral and everyone else had treated him that the evening had done much for his interest at the Admiralty, and the likelihood of being given his own command was much greater than it had been before the ball. The thought did make him very happy, of course; it was the summit of his dearest hopes, the hopes he'd never expected to have fulfilled. When he'd first dreamed of going to sea, he had known he'd be nothing more than a ship's boy, one who might perhaps someday grow to become an able seaman. But then Lieutenant Aubrey had put him forward for promotion from foremast jack to midshipman, much to everyone's surprise and Tom's delight. God, if his father could have seen him this evening! Surely he would have been proud to see his son received so kindly in such high society, proud to see him waltz with the daughter of the house, proud of his increased expectations of his own ship…

Tom entertained himself with thoughts of his potential first command as he wandered through the Admiral's opulent gardens. They were incredibly impressive by night, with several paths lit by torches, the flames illuminating many unfamiliar trees and flowers. Dr. Maturin would be able to recite their Latin names, of course, and probably everything else about them, but to Tom they were no less beautiful for being unknown. He reveled in the crisp night air, and in the silence, and in the joy of being alone. Though he must return to his lodgings soon, he supposed. It wasn't quite the thing to traipse through another man's backyard at such a late hour. But it was so very relaxing, and his lodgings were so very cramped.

"Mr. Pullings?" a soft, surprised voice asked from the shadows, shaking Tom from his reverie.

"Lady Evelyn?" he responded, equally surprised as she appeared before him. Tom was immediately on his guard, resolved that there would be no repeat of the bizarre fantasy he'd had while dancing with her early in the evening. It ought to be easy; she was so very plain. But then she had been just as plain earlier, and it hadn't stopped him then. He couldn't help but notice that the torchlight was quite flattering to her, making her appear almost pretty. Also, she had removed her cap at some point, revealing her hair to be a waving, shining copper which nearly matched the flames that lit the garden. Swallowing hard, he reminded himself of his resolution.

"I had thought that you would be gone by now," she began, sounding flustered. "That everyone would be gone by now, I mean."

Uncertain of what to do, Tom bowed, then felt foolish for it. "Indeed not, my lady; there are many men remaining in the card and smoking rooms."

She frowned slightly. "I see. And why are you not with them?"

"I became weary of their conversation," he admitted frankly. "Especially since so much of it seemed to focus upon me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning away from him and walking back into the shadows. He followed and found her seated on a stone bench just off the path. It wasn't quite as well lit, but was still in the open, so he assumed it was proper enough to sit there.

"Well," he answered as he joined her on the bench, "first they insisted upon hearing about the _Acheron_. It's not that I minded telling it, of course, but it really does sound so much better when one hears it than it seemed at the time… I felt uncomfortably as though I were boasting."

Lady Evelyn glanced at him in amusement. "You're meant to enjoy boasting about your exploits, Mr. Pullings. I'm sure the other gentlemen would have."

"Perhaps," he allowed, shrugging. "I doubt I will ever be comfortable with it. But then Mr. Mowett told a story that made me even more uncomfortable, and I felt compelled to find some solitude."

"And what story did Mr. Mowett tell that discomfited you so?" Lady Evelyn shifted slightly on the bench, brushing her leg unintentionally against his, and Tom froze.

"Ah… Um, well… He, uh, told the story of how I got my scar," he stammered, distracted by the feel of her against him and the warmth seeping into him from their point of contact. The desire he had felt in the ballroom had returned full force, or perhaps even stronger, as the darkness was so much more intimate. His mind had already begun spinning fantasies based on the lovely possibilities afforded by secluded stone benches.

Lady Evelyn seemed not to notice any of this, neither their physical contact nor their complete privacy. "I can understand that such a story would make you uncomfortable."

"Oh… Ah… Well… The story itself, um, didn't… Much bother me, you know. It was a neat little action, and both Will- Mr. Mowett, I mean- and the captain performed quite bravely in it. But afterwards…" he trailed off, unable to concentrate.

"Afterwards?" she prompted.

He barely heard her. His mind was completely preoccupied with a torturous image of him on top of her, pressing her down against the bench and settling between her legs as he kissed her and pushed up her skirt. In his fantasy she was warm and responsive, sighing quietly into his mouth as he trailed his fingers along the soft flesh of her thighs… "I'm sorry?" he asked weakly.

"You said 'But afterwards…' and then simply stopped," she pointed out. "I was hoping you'd finish your sentence, you see. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Quite. I merely meant that after he told the story, I… Um, that is, I felt as though people were staring at me more than usual. And so I came here to… Um, escape them."

She turned towards him in the darkness, touching his hand gently, and Tom could feel an electric current run through her into him. He longed to pull his hand away and run screaming in the other direction, but of course that would hardly do justice to the bravery of a lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Navy. "I am sorry that some people are so ill-bred," she stated softly. "They are fools, you know."

Her closeness was killing him, he thought. It was so dark and quiet, and she was so warm and soft and near, and it had been so long since he'd been anywhere in the vicinity of a woman. He was finding it quite difficult to refrain from kissing her senseless despite her general lack of attractiveness. "Yes, well…" he trailed off vaguely. "I daresay I'll grow more used to it. This is the first time I've been on land for any length of time among civilians since I received the wound."

"I see." There was a long pause, which Tom found physically painful- especially as she hadn't removed her hand from his- but which he suspected Lady Evelyn found perfectly comfortable. After awhile, she broke the silence. "Tonight was my first waltz, you know. Earlier, with you, I mean. I was quite grateful for the dance."

"Please," he whispered, "do not mention it. I assure you, it was a pleasure." As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back; something about the fantasies in his mind made the way he said that last word sound positively indecent, at least to his own ears.

"I doubt it, but thank you for saying so." Lady Evelyn sighed. "I am so horrible at things like this," she muttered, almost to herself. "It's really no wonder…"

"What?" Tom inquired, confused.

"I'm simply… Not very good at being straightforward," she replied, sighing again.

"I'm quite a proponent of straightforwardness," Tom reflected seriously, or as seriously as he was able considering how preoccupied he was. "You know, Admiral Nelson always said 'never mind the maneuvers; just go straight at 'em'. He was talking about battle, of course, but I think it applies to life as well." Except in situations such as these, he reminded himself. His mind unhelpfully supplied several potential applications of going straight at her.

"I like that philosophy," she said quietly. "And I suppose in this case I ought to follow it. You see, I enjoyed our dance, and our conversation, very much. I'm not a fool; I know you must have danced with me purely to impress my father- No," she cut him off before he could form his protests. "Do not perjure yourself. As I said, I am not a fool. But it did seem to me that you enjoyed our dance as well. I was hoping I might be able to ask a favor of you."

Tom looked at her in the darkness, completely confused. Surely he was not in a position to do any kind of favor for a lady of her station. "You might ask, Lady Evelyn. But I confess I am uncertain as to how I might be of any possible service to you."

"Oh it's nothing difficult!" she assured him earnestly. "It's only that I was hoping you might kiss me. I've never been kissed before, you see, and at two and twenty it's becoming rather embarrassing."

**Author's Note**: See? Cliffhanger! I hate to hold the next chapter hostage in exchange for reviews but... Wait, no I don't! If you ever want to find out Tom's reaction to Evie's request, please review! Even if the review is bad. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I get one decently long and thorough review :)


	7. 06: The True Meaning Of It

**Author's Note**: Thank you so much **nightkate** (I made a change to the previous chapter based on your review, if you'd care to check it out), **Sid** and **Phoebs** for your lovely reviews :) They were all decently long and thorough ones, which is very exciting to me :D Because of this (and because I DO have compassion upon your poor nerves!) I'm posting this next chapter with all possible haste, as promised. It's kind of long, like half as long again as the previous chapter. Sorry about that. Do please let me know what you think.

Before we get this party started, a few of you have some questions and comments that I thought I ought to address. If you don't care about said questions or comments, you're welcome to skip down!

_It seems out of character for Tom to be pondering his own handsomeness._

I don't really think it's out of character. I think Tom (in the books) is very sweet and modest, and in the movies as far as I can tell is much the same. I'm definitely trying to write him that way, but the difference is that in my story we have a much clearer picture of his thoughts. This is based on the movieverse, remember, and I just do not think it's possible for Tom to walk around looking like James D'Arcy with tight pants and long hair (oh god) and not be aware of the fact that he's ridiculously attractive. He would never let it go to his head, and he would never say it out loud, but he has to have that knowledge. I also think that for someone who must take the fact that they're attractive somewhat for granted, realizing that such a certain fact may have changed in other people's eyes must be difficult. Hopefully I can write those feelings better as the story progresses.

_It seems out of character that Evie propositions Tom._

I think from Tom's perspective it _is_ out of character, and I think it probably shocks him all hollow. But I also think Evie has her reasons and I think they make sense. Please let me know if you agree or disagree, and again I'll do my best to write those reasons better as the story progresses._  
_

_How long will this story be?_

...As long as it's supposed to be. I know that's not much of an answer. I suppose I should put it this way: I have four more chapters already written, and I'm nowhere near finished. So the best response I can give is "long" and leave it at that. Also, I daresay I'll write it whether people read it or not. I write mostly for myself, though I quite enjoy it when other people don't hate it :)

_Make up your mind! Is Evie pretty or plain?_

Here's my theory on Evie, which I suppose is the correct one since I made her up: she's neither pretty nor plain. In my head she's one of those girls who is "striking". She has some attractive features (her hair is genuinely beautiful) but her overall appearance depends quite strongly on the way she dresses and the way she holds herself. One celebrity with this quality is Maggie Gyllenhaal. If you look at her individual features, she is just not attractive at all. Her face is flat-out funny. And yet she's perceived as beautiful because she has talent and grace and a really good stylist. I know men who swear up and down that she's the most beautiful star around (and having seen her in person frequently at my place of business, I must say she has a kind of radiance that is impossible to ignore). I'm not saying Evie looks like Maggie Gyllenhaal, just that they share that quality. If you can't make up your mind whether she's pretty or plain, that's a good thing... Because I don't think Tom can either.

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Six

_The True Meaning Of It_

Evie was not going to cry. She had not cried earlier, when her mother had so upset her, and surely such comments from one's mother had far greater impact than similar comments spoken in a spiteful way by a mean-spirited harpy like Cressida Newton. They might distress her, might cause her to leave the gaiety of the ball behind in favor of the solitude of a hidden bench in the garden, but she would not allow them to make her cry.

It was stupid, really. Cressida had only given voice to what everyone had surely been thinking, what she herself had often thought. Perhaps that had made it even worse; it had been so humiliating to sit in her corner and listen to Miss Newton's vitriol without even the hope of contradicting her. She could not, naturally, as her every word was true.

"Lieutenant Pullings must be courageous indeed," she had observed to a crony in a loud, carrying whisper, one Evie knew she was meant to hear, "to be seen dancing publicly with such an antidote. Of course, her father _is_ an admiral, but even so I believe he must have preferred facing the French to waltzing with Lady Evelyn."

"She is an antidote to be sure," her friend responded, "but I own I have never seen her looking so ill as she does tonight."

Cressida pursed her lips thoughtfully. "One's looks naturally decline with age. It is tragic to think that Lady Evelyn will never be more attractive than she was when she made her bow! I could never stand to be so ugly. At least she is wearing a cap; I've often thought the only remedy for hair such as hers was to hide it completely, though perhaps it does not go far enough… If only she could hide her face, or disappear completely, the vista in the ballroom would be much improved."

It had been such a snide, ill-bred thing to say that even Miss Newton's companions were somewhat aghast. As for Evie, she had been determined that Cressida would not see how upset she was. After a respectable few minutes had passed, she had risen from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster and made her way unhurriedly to the French doors leading out into the garden. She'd heard tittering behind her as she'd exited, but didn't look back to confirm that it came from Cressida and her followers.

If she had expected the garden to provide an immediate refuge, she was sadly disappointed. Within five minutes of setting off into the dark towards her favorite secluded bench, she had stumbled across a couple kissing passionately against a tree. This was not especially uncommon, in truth, and initially Evie was merely concerned with making her way past the pair without disturbing them; she had no desire to discover any kind of scandal. Her first view had been of little more than the man's back, his height and breadth shielding his lady from view, though she noted his royal navy uniform and long blond queue with interest. But as she edged around the couple, she was stunned to see that the woman had fair skin and dark hair, and was wearing a lavender dress with an overgown of silver tissue silk.

Even 30 minutes later, her mind was still nearly blank from the shock of it. As she continued to fight back her tears, she wondered why precisely she felt like crying. Was it truly because of Cressida's hateful words, or was it due to glimpsing her best friend in a compromising position and feeling not censure but jealousy? Not that she was in any way interested in Captain Aubrey, but her mind had so easily placed Mr. Pullings in his uniform, and herself in Bethany's dress and the lieutenant's arms… It was everything, really, she decided. Her mother's rant and Cressida's remarks had both reminded her painfully of precisely how people saw her, and her waltz with Lieutenant Pullings and her glimpse of Beth in Captain Aubrey's embrace had both shown her with remarkable clarity precisely what she could never have.

Evie desperately wanted to stomp her foot like a little girl throwing a tantrum and shout that it wasn't fair. While she allowed herself to rip off her hated cap and throw it violently into the bushes, it did little to relieve her anger. She could hardly stand the fact that Bethany and Cressida and all the ladies she had gone to finishing school with would inevitably go on to marry and have children while she herself was already a spinster at two and twenty. Even should Bethany be forced to marry the odious Lord Casewell (which god forbid, despite her distress she'd never wish such a fate upon her friend), Beth would at least have the memory of this night, of being held close by someone she desired and being desired in return. Whereas Evie had never had such a memory, had never even been kissed, and it seemed likely never would be.

Hating the self-pitying turn of her thoughts, she rose abruptly. There was no longer any danger of crying, and she resolved to simply slink back to the townhouse. She judged that she had been in the garden long enough that most if not all the guests should be gone, and she could go straight up to bed to sleep and dream and hopefully forget this entire night had ever happened. With a sigh she realized that she couldn't even look forward to dreaming of her waltz with Mr. Pullings; if she did, it would only depress her in the morning. It was unfortunate, she reflected as she made her way to the garden path; the possibility of that dream had been the one thing that had made the evening bearable.

Almost as though her thoughts had summoned him to her, Evie was shocked to see Mr. Pullings coming toward her on the path. He was walking slowly with a distant dreamy expression on his face, its planes and angles accentuated by the flickering light cast by the torches that flanked the gravel walkway. There was something open and unguarded about him in this moment, likely because he thought himself still alone, and it was very appealing. Seeing him like this, it was far easier to realize how truly out of his depth he must have felt in the ballroom.

She should turn around, she knew. He still hadn't noticed her, and was unlikely to do so if she moved quickly and quietly. The last thing she needed in her current distressed state of mind was yet another interaction to remind her of how pathetic she was. And she _was_ pathetic; the sight of him had easily set her heart racing, and her mother's communiqué about his parentage had made him more interesting to her rather than less. It had made her see him as more than a gentleman, but rather as a man who had been born without benefit of fortune or breeding and had risen nearly to the top of his profession based purely on merit.

As a member of the aristocracy, Evie had never given much consideration to the idea of merit one way or the other. She believed her father deserved his position, having fought bravely at sea during the war with the colonies, but there was no question of his having _earned_ it. He had been entitled to it, then proved the validity of that entitlement. With Lieutenant Pullings, everything was reversed; he had been entitled to nothing, less than nothing, and yet had earned so much. The respect with which her father treated him was one sign of just how much. And she respected him for it as well, more than she could properly understand. God, she should turn around.

Of course, she didn't. Her mind had already calculated the likelihood of his offering to walk her back to the house (high: it was the gentlemanly thing to do) and decided to seize the opportunity to speak to him further, despite the inevitable consequences to her pride and perhaps her heart. "Mr. Pullings?" she asked quietly, apparently startling him.

He shook his head as though coming out of a trance, his expressive eyes losing their unfocused appearance and sharpening on her. "Lady Evelyn?"

She felt a thrill at the sound of his voice, low and smooth. Strain as she might to hear a hint of his parentage in his accent, she could detect no trace of it. "I had thought that you would be gone by now," she began after a moment, embarrassed by the realization that her pause was noticeably too long. Her embarrassment grew when she realized how her statement had sounded, as though she had given thought to his whereabouts… Which she had, but she must not make him aware of it. "That everyone would be gone by now, I mean," she corrected.

He made an elegant bow, and she expected him to offer her his arm to escort her up the path. Instead, he merely remarked "Indeed not, my lady; there are many men remaining in the card and smoking rooms."

Evie frowned; he had not done what she'd anticipated and she was now unsure of what to do or say. This was especially true because now, rather than walking arm in arm up a well-lit path with a reasonably degree of propriety, they were standing alone together in a well-lit place with no degree of propriety and a high degree of visibility. "I see. And why are you not with them?"

"I became weary of their conversation," he confessed with a rueful smile. "Especially since so much of it seemed to focus upon me." Though she had made the comment that elicited this admission in the hopes that he would perceive some hint to return to the house within it, his answer was so interesting she began to forget her worries about propriety.

Clearly he wished to remain in the garden, and she very much wished to continue their discussion. "What do you mean?" she questioned, edging away towards her hidden bench and hoping he'd follow. While sitting together off the path was far more improper than standing together _on_ the path, they were also far less likely to be found and so the _appearance_ of impropriety was less. Or the potential appearance… Or something. As long as they weren't found, she reasoned, it wouldn't matter in the least. If they were… They just wouldn't be. It would be fine.

After a moment he joined her on the bench, lowering himself gracefully next to her. "Well, first they insisted upon hearing about the _Acheron_. It's not that I minded telling it, of course, but it really does sound so much better when one hears it than it seemed at the time…" he trailed off before continuing. "I felt uncomfortably as though I were boasting."

Evie looked at him, impressed by his singular modesty. It was one of his most interesting traits, she believed, as it was so rare. "You're meant to enjoy boasting about your exploits, Mr. Pullings," she teased. "I'm sure the other gentlemen would have."

He smiled, the line of it endearingly crooked, and shrugged. "Perhaps. I doubt I will ever be comfortable with it. But then Mr. Mowett told a story that made me even more uncomfortable, and I felt compelled to find some solitude."

"And what story did Mr. Mowett tell that discomfited you so?" She maneuvered a bit to turn slightly towards him, and almost gasped as her leg came in contact with the solid length of his upper thigh. Somehow she managed to avoid reacting, and as near as she could tell he hadn't noticed anything.

"Ah…" he began, remembering. "Um, well… He, uh, told the story of how I got my scar."

For her part, Evie was finding it difficult to focus on his words. She felt… A kind of potential, something in the darkness, something that had nothing to do with Mr. Pullings' behavior toward her, but everything to do with the fact that they were so very alone. "I can understand that such a story would make you uncomfortable," she managed after a moment, easily imagining how little the modest lieutenant would have enjoyed such a story.

"Oh… Ah… Well… The story itself, um, didn't… Much bother me, you know," he stammered- uncharacteristically, she thought. "It was a neat little action, and both Will- Mr. Mowett, I mean- and the captain performed quite bravely in it. But afterwards…"

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but he seemed lost in thought. Finally, she prompted him. "Afterwards?"

He looked at her silently, his face blank, but there was something she couldn't quite define in his eyes. "I'm sorry?" he questioned, his voice soft.

Expectantly, she returned his gaze. "You said 'But afterwards…' and then simply stopped. I was hoping you'd finish your sentence, you see. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes," he responded absently. "Quite. I merely meant that after he told the story, I… Um, that is, I felt as though people were staring at me more than usual. And so I came here to… Um, escape them."

This comment moved her for reasons she could hardly put into words. It was just that she knew what it felt like to suspect people were staring, to believe they were looking and judging, and she felt… Close to him, somehow, knowing that he understood. Honestly, it hadn't occurred to her that he might be self-conscious about his scar; she had never seen him without it, after all, and it seemed to her to fit his face, seemed even to enhance his features. But of course he must feel uncomfortable about it. "I am sorry that some people are so ill-bred. They are fools, you know." Unthinkingly, she reached out to touch his hand, wanting to reassure him in some way

She almost gasped again at the feel of his smooth, warm skin beneath her hand. It was fairly normal for her to lose her gloves; she often removed them and forgot about them, though she hadn't even realized she wasn't wearing them until now. Why he wasn't wearing his, she had no idea, but she hadn't expected it at all. The skin on skin contact seemed remarkably intimate, but she didn't pull away. "Yes, well…" he answered. "I daresay I'll grow more used to it. This is the first time I've been on land for any length of time among civilians since I received the wound."

"I see." There was nothing more she could think of to say; her mind was preoccupied with a sudden, wild theory. That feeling of potential she had noticed before had grown, and now she was wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, Mr. Pullings was feeling it as well. Not that he could have any interest in her specifically, of course. But they were alone in the dark together, and he was a man after all. If there was one thing her mother had utterly convinced her of, it was the idea that men were little better than slaves to certain instincts. It wasn't their fault, and it was a lady's responsibility to refrain from leading them into situations where they might become tempted.

The idea that she could ever tempt anyone, much less Lieutenant Pullings, was almost laughable, and yet… Surely this was exactly the type of situation that might be considered tempting? She wished with sudden ferocity that she had asked Beth about such things before; judging by her tryst with Captain Aubrey, her friend knew all about temptation. All she could think to do was turn the conversation back to their previous encounter and see if he gave any hint of whether he was feeling anything at all in the dark. "Tonight was my first waltz, you know. Earlier, with you, I mean. I was quite grateful for the dance."

"Please, do not mention it. I assure you, it was a pleasure." She thought his voice sounded slightly quieter, the tone lower, perhaps even rougher. It could be some kind of sign, she supposed, but how on earth was she to know?

"I doubt it, but thank you for saying so." She sighed to herself. "I am so horrible at things like this. It's really no wonder…"

Mr. Pullings looked at her curiously, and she realized that her internal monologue had just become external. "What?" he asked.

Perhaps if she weren't so confused, she would have been able to think of some clever response. As it was, the best she could do was tell him the truth. "I'm simply… Not very good at being straightforward." God, was that an understatement.

Expression serious, Mr. Pullings nodded as though what she'd said actually made sense in the context of the conversation they'd been having. "I'm quite a proponent of straightforwardness. You know, Admiral Nelson always said 'never mind the maneuvers; just go straight at 'em'. He was talking about battle, of course, but I think it applies to life as well."

Evie echoed his nod, thinking to herself that life and battle were not so very different. She felt as though she lived in a constant state of battle between two parts of herself: the part that suspected she might be worth something and the part that knew she wasn't. Or the part that imagined herself in Mr. Pullings' arms and the part that knew it would never, ever happen. Could never, ever happen because such a thought would never occur to him.

And yet there was still that potential there, that potential that she had now nearly convinced herself he felt as well. "I like that philosophy," she murmured. It suddenly seemed quite clear to her that this was a chance, a chance that might never occur again. If she wanted a memory like the one Beth had, there was no easy way to get it. She would have to 'go straight at 'em'. And she would have to do it now, _right now,_ before she had the chance to think about it and realize how utterly insane it was.

"And I suppose in this case I ought to follow it. You see, I enjoyed our dance, and our conversation, very much. I'm not a fool; I know you must have danced with me purely to impress my father." He began to make the expected gentlemanly protestations, but she cut him off immediately. "No. Do not perjure yourself. As I said, I am not a fool. But it did seem to me that you enjoyed our dance as well. I was hoping I might be able to ask a favor of you."

His eyes met hers in the darkness, and she felt her breath catch with a combination of nervous fear and appreciation of his beauty. She felt in that moment that she had never wanted anything in her entire life so much as she wanted him to kiss her. And if she had to ask, if she had to _beg_, she suspected even then it would be worth it.

"You might ask, Lady Evelyn," he began, "But I confess I am uncertain as to how I might be of any possible service to you."

She could hear the throb of her heartbeat in her ears, feel it in the tips of her fingers, and could not force air into her lungs for anything. But she had to do it, she had to. A sudden image of Beth locked in Captain Aubrey's embrace filled her mind, and she exhaled to calm herself. "Oh it's nothing difficult! It's only that I was hoping you might kiss me. I've never been kissed before, you see, and at two and twenty it's becoming rather embarrassing."

It wasn't until the final word passed her lips that she began to understand the true meaning of it.

**Author's Note**: Sorry if that's another cliffhanger... I'm not holding the update hostage this time, I swear. I'll post it fairly soon, unless you urge me to post it sooner. But I want to go back to posting them in pairs now so I had to do this update on its own (you're not getting three chapters at once, that would just be silly).

P.S. I like getting both perspectives on the same conversations sometimes; I hope it's not boring to you. I don't intend to do it for every event or conversation, but I felt like it was fairly necessary for this one. Let me know if you're annoyed by it.


	8. 07: Whatever It Appears To Be

**Author's Note**: Sorry it took me so long to post this... I wrote it quite some time ago, but wanted to polish it up a bit. I'd be lying if I said I was entirely happy with it, but so many of you have messaged me asking to post I didn't want to put it off any longer! Please let me know what you think, and thank you again **nightkate** and everyone else for your reviews!

**Edit**: Updated 04.15.10 because I can never leave well enough alone. I'm much happier with it now... Hopefully you are too. Of course I have no idea if you're happy with anything, as no one has yet reviewed... *guilt guilt guilt*

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Seven

_Whatever It Appears To Be_

Whatever Tom had expected Lady Evelyn might request of him, it had certainly not been this. He felt a sudden wave of disorientation as he wondered whether the heated fantasies he'd been unable to ignore _(her body soft and warm and yielding beneath his, his hands pushing up her skirt impatiently as he teases her mouth open with his, her fingers tightening in his hair as he pushes her hard against the bench, oh god)_ had somehow taken over, and he was now confusing them with reality. It was too impossible to imagine that she was honestly sitting there, alone with him in the darkness, and inviting him quite calmly to give into every urge he'd been fighting to deny. Too impossible and too cruel, because surrendering to his baser instincts was simply not an option, no matter how much he wished it was.

And he did wish it was, wished it more than he could properly understand. Even in the darkness of the garden, Lady Evelyn wasn't pretty. She wasn't exactly plain, or at least not as plain as she had been in the bright candlelight of the ballroom, but "not exactly plain" was a far cry from beautiful. Yet there was something about her, had been since he'd met her, something about her sensually provocative voice or the intelligent expression on her admittedly ordinary face, and whether it made sense or not he wanted her. Desperately. It was killing him to have her so close, to have her looking at him with her eyes so vulnerable and hesitant, to know that if he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers the way he was dying to she would not recoil but would welcome him.

Not that he believed she wanted him, exactly, or at least not in the same way he wanted her. What he currently felt for her could only be termed blind lust, and surely a lady of her status would never feel such a thing, or even comprehend such a thing. How innocent she was to imagine that she could be so alone with him, and sit so close to him, and ask such a favor of him and yet believe it would all be chaste. He had never felt less inclination towards chastity in his entire life, though it had always come almost unnaturally easy to him in the past. His gaze focused unbidden on her mouth, and he almost groaned aloud when she brought her even white teeth down on her full lower lip, biting it nervously. It was far too easy to imagine doing the same, nipping her gently and then kissing her to soothe the hurt and oh god he was literally going insane.

"Lady Evelyn-" he began, voice so rough as to be nearly unrecognizable, finally breaking the silence which he only now realized had lasted far too long and become heavy and charged. Tom had no speech planned, no idea of what he was about to say; he spoke purely because he had to do something with his mouth other than press it to hers while he still had the willpower, any willpower at all. It was perhaps as well that she interrupted him almost immediately.

"No. No." There was an edge of hysteria to her voice, the panic distorting its sensual tone, and she raised her free hand as though to physically hold back any further words he might speak. "No. Oh god. Oh god. Please, just… Forget this, please forget this. Forget I was ever here at all. I am such a fool."

Abruptly, she tried to stand, but her other hand still rested on top of Tom's, and he seized it unthinkingly. Her fingers felt fragile and delicate as he gripped them, their softness another mark of her station; the hands of his mother and sisters were nearly as callused as his own. "Lady Evelyn, please-"

"Please what?" she asked in a quiet, vulnerable voice. "What could you possibly say? I don't think I could stand your polite refusal. Or your pity," she added, so softly he wasn't sure she'd said it at all. "I must beg you to let me go."

He longed to tell her he didn't pity her, didn't want to refuse her politely or otherwise, wanted only precisely what she wanted and even more, but he didn't. Nor did he pull her close and kiss her breathless, though it was a very near thing. He started to relax his hold on her hand, surprised by his own reluctance to do so. "Lady Evelyn-" he began again, though again he wasn't sure quite what he intended to say.

And again, he was interrupted. "Tom," William's voice called, preceding the younger lieutenant into the little clearing by barely a second. "Tom, are you here?"

Shocked, Tom released Lady Evelyn's hand immediately, but he wasn't fast enough. Will's stunned expression clearly stated that he had seen the way his friend had been cradling it. "Oh _god_," Lady Evelyn whispered, rising abruptly. "Forgive me." Her stricken gaze met his, then darted to Will for a brief moment. The two stared at each other for what felt like an extremely long time before Lady Evelyn suddenly turned and made her way back towards the house at nearly a run.

"Good lord, Tom," Will breathed, eyes wide with astonishment. "I did not expect… I mean, you… Lady Evelyn… Good lord, Tom."

Tom shook his head in an attempt to clear it and force himself to focus. Everything had happened so ungodly fast that he felt he was still several moments behind. "It… It is not… I do not know what it appears to be," he stammered, "but I am almost certain that whatever it appears to you to be is not the case."

"Good lord, Tom," Will repeated, still so stunned he was seemingly almost dazed with it.

"You required my presence for some reason?" Tom asked desperately, standing and approaching his friend.

Will nodded vaguely, clearly still preoccupied. "Yes, I… Yes. Captain Aubrey seems to have disappeared…" He trailed off before apparently returning to his senses. "I was hoping you might assist me in searching for him. He was quite deep in his cups, if you recall, and I believe it would be best for us to find him, rather than any other guest."

"Of course," Tom agreed immediately. He knew the kinds of trouble Captain Aubrey was apt to get into while intoxicated, and of course wished to prevent any breath of scandal attaching itself to his mentor and friend. Beyond that, he couldn't help hoping this new mission of sorts might distract Will from what he had witnessed. "When did you last see him?"

"Ah…" Will darted a quick look at Tom. "About the same time I last saw you. I thought you must be together as you'd both headed towards the gardens."

"Well," Tom began, desperately wanting to keep Will's focus far from conjecture about what he might have been doing as he had obviously not been in the captain's company, "I came by way of this path from the ballroom and did not see Captain Aubrey at all… Perhaps it might be best to circle around the opposite way? I believe the path loops back to the terrace if we continue along."

Without a word, Will gave one short nod and made his way back to the path. Tom followed, feeling awkward and guilty, though why he should he had no idea. He was embarrassed, of course, but there was no need for guilt. Hadn't he resisted temptation, after all? Nothing had happened with Lady Evelyn, nothing for which he ought to reproach himself, and nothing _would have _happened; he was almost sure of it. Perhaps it was the "almost" in that phrase that filled him with a sense of shame.

Will, of course, was not the kind of friend to leave this sort of situation alone; Tom had not expected he would. After a minute or two, he finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Tom…" he began, voice hesitant, "I'm certain you have no wish to discuss this, but I believe we must. I am concerned for you. You are far too honorable to attempt to ruin a lady, so I must assume that Lady Evelyn lured you into some kind of assignation-"

Tom was torn between being offended on Lady Evelyn's behalf and amused on his own. In the end, he laughed; he couldn't help it. "Surely you do not imagine that a woman of Lady Evelyn's status could have any designs on me? It was all utterly innocent," he explained earnestly. "We met on the path and began a conversation, then thought it best to continue it in that copse. It was nothing, I assure you."

"Why did you not offer to escort her back to the house once you met?" Will inquired.

Much struck by this suggestion, Tom shrugged helplessly. "It never occurred to me. Ought I to have done?"

Shaking his head, Will gave his friend a disbelieving look. "Of course you ought to have done; that was the proper thing to do in such a situation. Surely you must understand that if anyone save myself had found you together, Lady Evelyn's reputation would be ruined? Surely you must understand the consequences?"

"How am I to understand such things?" Tom demanded, exasperated. "This is not my world, Will; I think sometimes you forget it. How can a simple conversation ruin a lady's reputation? What consequences do you refer to? It is all utterly alien to me."

"I really do forget sometimes," Will murmured. "Your behavior is so gentlemanly, it is easy to forget you were not born to it." Though he forced himself not to show it, Tom was deeply touched by this compliment, as much by the matter-of-fact way it was stated as by the sentiments expressed. However, the glowing sense of pride he felt dimmed slightly as he remembered his less than gentlemanly thoughts about a certain lady, leaving him only with the wish that he could deserve Will's praise. He gave no outward sign of these thoughts as his friend continued. "But allow me to enlighten you: by all the rules of society, you have compromised Lady Evelyn. Had anyone else found you, you'd have been required to either offer for the woman or eat grass for breakfast."

Tom blinked. "Surely not."

"Indeed," Will countered. "It is quite a serious matter, compromising a lady."

"But…" Tom hesitated, knowing he was about to expose his ignorance to his friend but unable to prevent it. "Why on earth would anyone eat grass for breakfast?"

Will stared at him, uncomprehending. "Lord, Tom! Grass for breakfast… It means a duel, pistols at dawn. And considering that you would have been the one to deliver the insult, you would have been obliged to let her father shoot you in the face if it pleased him."

To Tom, the thought that a simple conversation, even one as confusing and heated (on his own side) as that which he and Lady Evelyn had been engaged in, could result in a bullet to the skull was ridiculous. Society, it seemed, had a very low opinion of a gentleman's ability to control himself. Not that it had been easy, necessarily, but he had managed it, and he was certainly no gentleman. Something about his friend's explanation bothered him, however. "Will, you said earlier that by all the rules of society, I had compromised Lady Evelyn. What precisely does that mean?"

"The fact that she was alone with you for an extended period of time calls her reputation into question," Will told him patiently. "You could have been doing anything you liked to her, you know. Not that you would have, or did!" he hastened to add. "I'd never think such a thing, no one who knew you would. But if anyone else had found you, a belief in the strength of your character would not be enough to save her good name."

"So if anyone else had found us, Lady Evelyn's reputation would be compromised… But no one else did, so it's… Not?" Tom surmised uncertainly.

Will shrugged. "Technically speaking, her reputation has already been compromised. It's just that no one knows about it. But if I were to tell someone- which I would never do, of course!- or someone else had seen you- which I am sure no one did!- then Lady Evelyn would be considered… I do hesitate to apply such a coarse term to a lady, but society would consider her to be 'used goods', quite unmarriageable."

The term "used goods" was unexpectedly painful to Tom, mainly because he knew the assumption implicit within it was that he was the one who had used her. It struck him as remarkably unfair that she might be subjected to any kind of censure purely because she'd had the misfortune to converse with him. "Will, forgive me, but do you mean to say that our conversation could somehow damage Lady Evelyn were it to become known?"

"Good lord, Tom," Will groaned, the words practically a curse. "You have that look on your face, the one that tells me you're considering something ridiculously, unnecessarily honorable."

Tom wanted to protest that given what Will had just explained to him, an offer of marriage seemed almost a requirement, but his friend's glare cowed him into silence.

"Put such things from your mind at once," Will commanded. "You must be careful. You are ignorant of the rules of society; I know your actions with Lady Evelyn were innocent. But think: to Lady Evelyn, knowledge of society comes as easy as breathing. _She_ knew what the consequences would be if you were caught, and I am not nearly so convinced as you are that she has no designs on you. Imagine it from her perspective, if you please. You are a brave, handsome hero with excellent prospects, and she is a Friday-faced spinster. I daresay she would consider herself quite lucky to trap you into matrimony… To trap anyone into it, really."

Tom felt a surprising jolt of anger at his friend's words. He did not like to hear Lady Evelyn insulted, despite knowing the words Will spoke were true. Well, all except the part about him being handsome; a Turkish scimitar had put paid to that, of course. "That's unworthy of you, Will," he reprimanded, the coldness in his voice unnerving even to himself. "Lady Evelyn has been nothing but kind to me; I cannot think so ill of her."

Seeming somewhat taken aback by his defense of the lady, Will gave Tom a searching look. "Forgive me. I did not realize you felt so strongly about this."

Sighing, Tom returned his friend's look. "Please do not mistake my motives; I feel strongly that Lady Evelyn is a caring woman, perhaps a bit lonely. I am not foolish enough to harbor any other strong feelings for her. I do not look so high."

"But would you? If you thought you could?" Will asked gently.

"Of course not," Tom answered with perfect honesty. "Never." So many of Will's assumptions were amusing to him: his assumption that his own interest in Lady Evelyn must be either innocent or romantic, for example. If only his friend knew… There had been nothing innocent about his fantasies of her, and they were only romantic in the most technical sense. Will would never understand any of it, of course. "But if I have harmed her reputation through my ignorance, am I not duty bound to make what amends are within my power? I am no kind of match for her, of course… Yet I would not have her injured because of me."

"Yes, and perhaps that is what she is counting on," Will pointed out.

Again, Tom felt anger at his friend. "Be careful, Will. I will not have her spoken of with anything less than respect."

"I apologize," Will stated after a momentary pause, clearly taken aback. "Perhaps I spoke too hastily, mistook Lady Evelyn's motives. Perhaps she is innocent in all of this. But I will say that her mother is fair desperate to have her child married off. She did all she could to force the two of us together while you were in company with Admiral Fanshaw. In the end I could only avoid asking Lady Evelyn to dance by fleeing to the card room."

Tom's irritation with his friend increased. Did he not comprehend how insulting he was being to a girl he barely knew? Dancing with Lady Evelyn had been quite pleasant, not a punishment to be avoided. He didn't know why he felt so much like defending her; perhaps it was because he was only now beginning to understand how much of an outcast she really was, even amongst her own society. It was a feeling Tom could relate to, and he had a deep sense of sympathy for her. "I think it would be best if we changed the subject, William."

Will shot his friend a curious glance. "If you wish, Tom. What shall we discuss instead? I suppose I might mention that we are almost to the terrace, and not a trace of the captain to be- Hello, what's this?"

Following Will's gaze, Tom sighed when he saw a large figure in a royal navy uniform sitting on the ground, back propped up against a tree. His chin rested on his chest, hiding his face in shadow, but the fair hair shining in the moonlight was recognizable enough. "Can we get him to the carriage between us, do you think?" Tom's voice held a note of resigned amusement.

"We've managed similar feats well enough in the past," Will replied. The two friends exchanged exasperated smiles, both remembering well-supplied dinners in the gunroom that had ended with the two of them walking the captain back to his cabin. The memories went a long way towards restoring the sense of camaraderie Tom usually felt with his second, and he was relieved to feel his unaccustomed annoyance with his friend dissipate.

Bending to help Will hoist Captain Aubrey to his feet, Tom reflected that this was familiar, this was ordinary. This was part of what life ought to be like. But Will's comments about Lady Evelyn still ate at him, somehow. He did not like the notion that he had compromised her, whatever that meant, however unwillingly. Nor did he know precisely what he ought to do about it. But he ought to do _something_, of that he was quite certain.

**Author's Note**: Seriously, review!


	9. 08: Something Out of a Fairy Tale

**Author's Note**: Please forgive the delay in posting this; things suddenly got very busy with work, and my website (The Dear Surprise... It's Master and Commander based, link in profile if you're interested), and then I got sick... Anyway! I hope you like the new chapter, I'll try not to change anything now that I've posted it. No promises, however. Warmest thanks to **nightkate** and **Wyvern-Soars** for their lovely reviews! I am posting this in your collective honor... If you don't like it, I hope you'll let me know!

P.S. To answer a question received via PM, YES, Jack and Stephen will definitely have larger parts to play in this story after the next two chapters or so. They're both an integral part of how the rest of the story will unfold, so if you're hoping to see more of them just hold fast :)

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Eight

_Something Out of a Fairy Tale_

"Oh, lord, they would come together," Lady Fanshaw muttered, annoyed. Evie observed her discontented look as she examined the calling card their butler, Roster, had presented to her.

"Who would?" Evie asked curiously. Already they had received several courtesy calls from last night's guests, all come to thank them for the ball as was proper. It was also a proper time for suitors to call, of course, but naturally there were none. Nor had there ever been.

"Lieutenant Mowett and Mr. Pullings," her mother answered with the same sour expression, insultingly denying the latter the honor of his rank. "Mr. Pullings doesn't even have his own calling card; he simply wrote his name on the back of Lieutenant Mowett's. Or the lieutenant wrote it for him," She added, voice full of scorn. "Do you think Mr. Pullings _can_ write?"

Cressida Newton and her mother both tittered at Lady Fanshaw's remark. Evie experienced a bizarre combination of giddiness, terror and anger. The giddiness and terror were both due to hearing Mr. Pullings' name; the anger was for her own mother's rudeness. "I believe you'll find that _Lieutenant_ Pullings is a very intelligent officer, mother," she stated, masking her near-rage as best she could. "Also that he outranks Lieutenant Mowett. Surely you cannot imagine that a man might be promoted midshipman without being able to read and write?"

"I would not be so certain," her mother answered dismissively before turning to the butler. "Yes, we're At Home to Lieutenant Mowett and his guest. But should they ever arrive separately, Roster, you're to send _Mr._ Pullings away."

Roster bowed and left the room as Mrs. Newton turned to Lady Fanshaw. "I must say, I was quite shocked to learn of Mr. Pullings' history. I rather thought that sort of thing was simply not allowed. If, as you say, he began his career… What's the phrase? 'Before the mast'? Well, then he ought to have stayed there. There's an order to such things; it's unnatural to take a man from his proper place in society and actually give him authority over his betters."

It took a tremendous amount of willpower, more than she'd even expected she possessed, for Evie to refrain from saying or doing something her mother would make sure she came to regret. As it was, she was obliged to excuse herself from the drawing room in order to find a quiet spot to compose herself. She murmured something suitably polite before escaping to the terrace, clenching her fists against her anger and panic. The terrace was just as lovely in the early afternoon sunshine- so unseasonably warm- as it had been in the depths of night, as lovely as it had been when she'd crept through it to slip into the house after the ball. Evie had not appreciated it then and did not appreciate it now. Instead she paced fretfully across the flagstones, utterly preoccupied.

She did not understand her emotions. The panic she comprehended perfectly, of course: Mr. Pullings made her feel that way in general, and on this occasion it was obviously intensified by the fact that she had behaved so unlike herself towards him the night before. Wanton, that was the only word for her ridiculous proposition. How foolish she had been, to think he could ever look at her and see something other than a pathetic spinster, to think he could see her as a woman he might actually consider kissing. It had been the most humiliating experience of her life. And of course it was made even more humiliating by the knowledge that he must have shared the entirety of her misdeed with Lieutenant Mowett. Had they laughed at her together after she'd left them? God, she couldn't bear it. But of course they must have.

It was this certainty that made it impossible to understand her reaction to her mother's rudeness. Honestly, she ought to have merely been grateful that it wasn't directed at herself for once. Instead, she felt a sense of injustice and rage, strong enough that she'd actually reprimanded her mother in company! That was so very unlike her and so very unnecessary. Why should she defend him, after all? He had refused her, pitied her, laughed at her in all likelihood. In her mind's eye she could easily imagine the jokes the two lieutenants must have made at her expense, could see them sitting together in that private copse tittering behind her back just like Cressida Newton and her horrible mother.

That image was swiftly replaced with a memory of Mr. Pullings smiling at her, and Evie was pierced as much by the sweetness in that smile as by its beauty. The memory of it soothed her, calmed her foolish, blind panic. No, no. Mr. Pullings had certainly refused her, probably pitied her, but she could not imagine he would ever laugh at her. He was far too much of a gentleman to ever do such a thing, despite his birth. It was funny, she reflected, how she knew this man not at all and yet was so utterly certain of his character. There was something essentially _good_ about him, good and kind, and somehow she knew he was incapable of the cruelty required to make sport of her with his friend.

If Lieutenant Pullings was capable of any kind of intentional cruelty, Evie would be very much surprised. And yet there were types of cruelty that were not intentional. She could not help but think that his very existence was one.

"Well, well," a sly voice interrupted her depressing musings as Cressida Newton joined her on the terrace. Evie turned sharply towards the artificially high, painfully sweet sound of her voice. Like Lady Bethany Firth, Miss Cressida Newton was beautiful, but unlike Beth she was a close approximation of pure evil. There was something almost wholesome about coveting Beth's beauty; her outer loveliness was a reflection of something lovely within, which somehow made Evie feel better about her occasional bouts of jealousy over Beth's appearance. But she hated, hated, _hated_ being jealous of Miss Newton. Her hair literally shone like gold in the sunlight, her blue eyes wide as though they knew they reflected the sky, the perfect, even features of her delicate face echoed in the perfect proportions of her form. Involuntarily, Evie clenched her fists.

"May I be of assistance, Miss Newton?" she ground out, the question phrased with consummate politeness. It was her only option, really. Evie was the daughter of a powerful admiral and peer, but even so she suspected it might be possible she should hang for the murder she longed to commit every time she saw Cressida's hatefully smug face.

The girl shrugged, the gesture elegant of course, and drew closer. "I merely came to bear you company," she responded in a honeyed tone.

"Thank you," Evie snapped, "but I am happy enough to be left to my thoughts."

"Ah yes," Cressida murmured. "Thoughts of Mr. Pullings, no doubt. I own I have never seen such a pathetic display as the one you treated myself and my mother to in your drawing room just now… Unless it was the way you threw yourself at the lieutenant last night."

A squirming knot of embarrassment with a hint of fear tied itself in Evie's stomach, but she remained outwardly calm. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered dismissively. "I've barely ever spoken to Mr. Pullings; we danced but half a set, even if it was the waltz."

"Oh, Evelyn," Cressida's grating voice was full of false pity, but also relish. "I'm not speaking of your waltz." She paused, allowing Evie to appreciate the full horror of that statement, before grinning. "I followed you into the garden, of course, and I must say I've never been quite so amused. Two and twenty and never been kissed? It's almost disgraceful, really."

There was a rushing sound in Evie's ears, a sinking sensation in her belly not unlike that of falling from a great height, and surely her heart must literally have stopped beating. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that she should be seen, much less overheard. She had lain awake thinking of it, of course, considering the consequences of Lieutenant Mowett discovering them- and at a rather compromising moment, too. Mr. Pullings had been holding her hand, holding it tightly as though he wanted to, and she couldn't imagine how that must have looked to his friend. Yet she knew that Mr. Mowett would never betray them, would never do that to his fellow officer, and so had been unworried about the possibility of their disastrous meeting becoming common knowledge. But now… To think that her most hated enemy possessed such compromising information… God, she was ruined. Lieutenant Pullings was ruined.

"It's not that I blame you," Cressida confided, clearly enjoying Evie's sudden anguish. "Before I learned of his base origins, I considered setting my cap for him myself. But now that I know he has no fortune, no name… No, I would not stoop so low. You on the other hand, well. I know beggars cannot be choosers."

Evie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control her panic. "Who have you told, Cressida?" she demanded urgently. "Your mother? _My _mother? Oh, god." There had been seven other guests when she had left the drawing room not ten minutes before. Seven other guests, all of whom might already be privy to Cressida's information, all highly placed in society, all with the power to strip her of her reputation and position and force her into shameful exile. Or force her into marriage with Mr. Pullings. But no, that was the wrong way around; no one would ever believe she had been forced to marry him. She wouldn't believe it herself. In the darkest most secret recesses of her heart, she was… Not opposed to the idea. He would be the one forced into marriage with her, and how he'd hate her for it.

Cressida looked at her curiously. "You almost sound as though you'd prefer if I told no one," she murmured.

"I have no wish to trap anyone into marriage," Evie stated with dignity, disgusted by Cressida's cruel games. "Mr. Pullings least of all."

"You're so boringly noble," Cressida scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Well, this changes things. I had intended to taunt you, make you think you'd won before declining to tell. But it's not amusing if that's what you want me to do."

Evie looked at her with utter incredulity. "Is that what all of this is about to you? Amusement?"

The girl blinked, evidently surprised. "Of course. Is that not what everything is about?"

"You are unbelievable," Evie accused.

"I suggest you attempt to believe it," Cressida retorted. "Or at the very least, believe that I will tell my mother about your tryst with Mr. Pullings, unless-"

Pinning Cressida with a glare of deep dislike, Evie interrupted her. "Unless what, Cressida? I have nothing you want, nothing you don't already have. It's a poor position from which to attempt blackmail."

"Perhaps," Cressida allowed. "Perhaps I merely require some time to consider. For the time being, let's simply say 'unless'. Let's understand that you owe me, and someday I shall collect. Does that suit?"

"Your soul to the devil, Cressida Newton," Evie spat. "I have no intention of sitting around waiting for you to decide the price of your silence, even less intention of actually paying it."

"Then I foresee a shamefully hasty wedding in your unhappy future, though I do so hate the thought of doing you such a favor," Cressida answered indifferently.

"Your soul to the devil," Evie repeated, thinking frantically. Obviously, she could not allow Cressida to tell anyone about her meeting in the garden with Mr. Pullings, but the idea of allowing such a horrible human being to have any kind of power over her was repugnant. Not quite as repugnant as the idea of forcing Mr. Pullings into marriage with her, however. Or not quite as repugnant as that idea ought to have been. It wasn't, entirely; it was ever so slightly tempting, if only because Evie could not imagine what she might have that Cressida could ever want, but suspected she did not want to find out. The whole conversation with her seemed like something out of a fairy tale, one of the horrible gruesome ones, and Evie couldn't help but feel that if she acquiesced to her demands, she'd be promising more than she knew.

"Yes, yes, my soul to the devil," Cressida echoed, bored. "What's it to be? Do we understand one other, or am I to wish you joy?"

Evie shook her head, reigning in her anger and frustration. "I doubt I shall ever understand _you_, Cressida," she bit out, defeated. "But I understand your threat tolerably well." In the back of her mind, Evie couldn't help but note that she hadn't technically promised anything. Not that it would save her in the long run, as her nemesis well knew.

Cressida's smile spread slowly across her face, bright and lovely as the dawn. Evie hated it. "Splendid," she murmured, turning back to the house. "Splendid." A hint of delicate, chime-like laughter trailed menacingly behind her.

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Evie sank unsteadily down onto a stone bench. It was identical to the one that had given her such proximity to Mr. Pullings the night before and thereby had inadvertently become the launch point for all her current troubles. Any moment now, she knew she'd have to return to the drawing room and face an assortment of people she'd rather not deal with: guests from the night before, who pitied her; her mother, who despaired of her; Cressida Newton, who hated her; Lieutenant Mowett, who knew her not at all yet had witnessed her most embarrassing moment… And Lieutenant Pullings, who had held her hand as though he'd wanted to. No. Who had refused her.

Surely she could remember that.


	10. 09: A Modicum of Perspective

**Warning**: The following Author's Note and chapter contains potential (very minor) spoilers for Master and Commander (the novel), Post Captain, H.M.S. Surprise and The Far Side of the World.

**Author's Note**: I just wanted to quickly explain what's going on with the characters' backgrounds here. I realize that by the novel The Far Side of the World, Jack, Tom and Stephen have already been married for several years. However, in the movieverse (in which this story is set, remember), all we ever learn of the characters' personal lives is that Jack writes to someone named Sophia. Nothing is ever said about Tom or Stephen. For the purposes of this story, Jack and Sophia are not yet married (I've referred to her as his betrothed in previous chapters, you may recall), and Tom and Stephen are also unattached. I've taken the details of their personal lives from the early books, but changed it so that they're single at the time of the story.

This is also the first chapter in which I've attempted to write Stephen, and I just want to make it clear that I'm writing him from the movie and doing the best I can. The thought of attempting to write him as he is in the series is far, far too intimidating… This was bad enough!

As always, many thanks go to **MissThursday**, **nightkate** and **Wyvern** for their lovely reviews! Incidentally, I'm looking for a new Beta… Should any of you be interested (whether you've reviewed or not), please message me.

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Nine

_A Modicum of Perspective_

Tom peered out the window of Will's carriage, staring unseeingly at the spectacle of the best part of London rushing by. Immense columned townhouses similar to Admiral Fanshaw's lined the street on either side, shaded by stately trees and surrounded by park-like areas of greenery. Many of the houses had gardens or fountains partially concealed behind wrought-iron gates, giving the exclusive neighborhood an appearance of paradise, though Tom appreciated none of it. He was far too preoccupied with his thoughts as his friend's well-sprung coach took them back to Dr. Maturin's rooms in the Savoy.

It was just that he wished he'd had the chance to speak to Lady Evelyn. As soon as Will had informed him of the necessity of paying a courtesy call to the Fanshaws to thank them for the ball, Tom had built it up in his mind as the chance for the two of them to discuss their situation and perhaps come to some kind of determination. He was sorely disappointed by the actual experience, however. When he'd first entered the drawing room with Will, Lady Evelyn hadn't even been present. She'd appeared about 10 minutes later, her drawn, pale countenance nearly convincing Tom that someone must have seen them the night before. And yet there was no opportunity to ask her; Lady Fanshaw had immediately insisted that Will should take a turn about the room with her daughter, or perhaps they ought to tour the garden, or perhaps go on a ride in Hyde Park the next day. Meanwhile, Tom had been ignored as completely as though he had been wallpaper.

Being ignored didn't upset him, of course. On the whole, he rather thought he preferred it. At the very least it was what he was used to, what he expected, from people of such lofty station. It _did_ upset him to see Lady Evelyn looking so distressed and to suspect he might be the cause. Her face had been utterly colorless, lacking even the sallowness he had noticed the night before, except the few times she had met his gaze, at which point she had flushed as painfully pink as her deeply unflattering gown. There was something charming about that, he thought, something he didn't quite understand; perhaps it was that he liked knowing he was capable of unsettling her. After all, it was only fair, considering how very much she unsettled him.

It hadn't helped that he had dreamed of her the night before, the kind of dream that made him embarrassed to look himself in the eye in the mirror in the morning, let alone anyone else. Tom had felt like some kind of voyeur, unable to refrain from watching her move about the drawing room, always aware of her location through a strange sixth sense. He'd kept remembering moments from his dream as though they had truly happened, recalling the imagined feel of her hair heavy and smooth in his hands, the phantom softness of her lips against his, the all-too-real tone of her voice caressing his name… Because he knew it would sound just the way he fantasized, low and beautiful and perfect…

"Tom, are you quite alright?" Will's concerned voice interrupted his thoughts, which he found welcome considering the direction in which they were about to head.

"Of course," he responded with a small smile. "My mind was simply wandering."

"Mine as well," Will murmured. "Did you see the way Lady Fanshaw kept throwing Lady Evelyn at me? I tell you, Tom, the woman is most devilishly determined."

"She did seem quite eager to plan an entire week of outings for you," Tom agreed, trying to ignore the faint, inexplicable twinge of jealousy he felt. It was hardly surprising that Lady Fanshaw would single Will out; he was eligible in ways Tom himself would never be. Suddenly, he blinked with shock. Where that thought had come from, he had no idea. He had no desire to be eligible.

Will seemed not to notice Tom's distraction. "Lord, I must be careful," he sighed, "or I shall find myself married to Lady Evelyn before the end of the season."

"Do you never contemplate it?" Tom asked hesitantly. "Marriage, I mean. To anyone, not Lady Evelyn specifically," he added.

Apparently shocked, Will shook his head vehemently. "No! God no. Do you?"

"I was once very nearly engaged," Tom answered. "To Sarah Chubb, you remember?"

"Oh, yes," Will nodded, "now I recall. She was quite pretty, a little blonde thing… Was she not there the night we celebrated your promotion to Lieutenant?"

Tom smiled. "Yes. We had an understanding, I thought, while I was in the _Polychrest_, and when we took the _Surprise_ to India I went so far as to spend a year's pay and prize-money on a ring for her. And yet when I returned, she was a year married to someone else."

"Lord, Tom, I am sorry," Will consoled sincerely. "I had no idea."

With a shrug, Tom waved off his friend's apology. It had hurt deeply at the time, wounded him more than he'd thought possible, but it had been years ago of course. "It is no great matter. I thought then that perhaps our profession is not well-suited to marriage. And yet lately I begin to believe it might be… Nice, you know, to come home to someone. Or to write to someone other than family, to feel hopeful at every port…" he trailed off wistfully.

Will's expression became uneasy. "This is all hypothetical, is it not? Unrelated to Lady Evelyn in any way?"

"Of course," Tom assured him, even as he assured himself. "Or mostly, at any rate… I've only been considering it because it is possible I should have to offer for her, you know. And yet it would be such a disaster. Aside from anything else, I cannot even afford a wife, much less a wife like her."

"Can you not?" Will inquired with a curious glance. "I daresay I could on pay and prize-money alone."

Tom returned his friend's glance with a wry look. "Yes, I daresay you could." He did not like to mention that Will was responsible only for himself, while he was obliged to support his widowed mother, three sisters and an assortment of nieces and nephews. It was unnecessary in any case; Tom knew his friend was as honorable as he himself was, and if his entire salary were needed to ensure the comfort of his family, surely he would surrender it gladly. Their circumstances were different, that was all.

Will did not press the point. Instead, he returned to the subject of Lady Evelyn. "I should not worry about it, Tom. Surely if there were any danger to her reputation, she would even now be aware of it. She would have spoken to you, if only to warn you, but I rather believe she was avoiding you instead."

"Perhaps she was," Tom murmured, almost entirely to himself. He found he disliked the idea, though he was unsure why.

"I confess I am curious as to what you two were discussing last night," Will prodded delicately.

Tom colored but declined to satisfy his friend's curiosity. "I wonder if Captain Aubrey will be awake when we reach Dr. Maturin's," he mused instead.

Raising his eyebrows at Tom's clumsy evasion, Will accepted the change of subject with grace. "I should be surprised if he were. I have never seen a man so insensible with drink, save when that poor young man in the _Sophie_ drank himself to death on his birthday. Not that the captain is in any danger, of course," he hastened to add.

"I do hope he is well soon," Tom began earnestly. "Firstly because I know he particularly desires to visit his betrothed, of course; I should hate for him to postpone it. But also for a more selfish motive," he admitted. "After last night, I begin to think I might honestly have a chance at promotion, and I'd value his advice on the matter. Ought I to pay a visit to the Admiralty, do you think?"

"Of course you have a chance at promotion, more than a chance I'd say," Will assured him. "Your action with the _Acheron_ cannot be ignored, and Admiral Fanshaw was so attentive to you. I daresay you'll find yourself Master and Commander within the week, whether you visit the Admiralty or not."

Tom fought to keep a grin from stretching his face. "Lord, Will, do not get my hopes up. I find it answers better to expect nothing, for then one is always pleasantly surprised, rather than disappointed."

"Well expect nothing then," Will teased, "but the excitement of the pleasant surprise might kill you, if all happens as I anticipate. Here is the Grapes, I believe… And is that the doctor?" His playful tone turned to one of alarm. "Lord, Tom, he looks so very grave."

He did indeed, Tom thought, suddenly worried. As the carriage slowed to a stop, he hurried out to meet him, ignoring the ingenious steps that unfolded automatically as the door opened and exiting the coach with a jump. Will followed suit. "Dr. Maturin, sir… Do we find you well? Is Captain Aubrey recovered?" Tom found himself uncertain of the man's response, and felt a hint of fear.

"I am quite well, Mr. Pullings, I thank you," the doctor answered, though the bleakness of his expression did not alter. "I have been awaiting your arrival this quarter hour past; I should be much obliged if you would join me upstairs, though Captain Aubrey remains indisposed."

"Of course, doctor," Will responded, his face and Tom's both taking on the doctor's gravity as they followed him upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Tom sat next to Will in Doctor Maturin's sitting room. He let a set of rooms in a lodging house called the Grapes in the Savoy, had done for a number of years, and the bizarre clutter of items that filled the room was a testament to that length of time. All the strange objects, including display cases of brilliantly colored beetles, unfamiliar stuffed animals and what appeared to be a human skull, were covered with a liberal coating of dust, which made sense considering Dr. Maturin, like himself and Will, had spent close on the last three years constantly at sea. Tom had known the doctor for much longer than that, of course; they had all three served together in the _Sophie_, Captain Aubrey's first command, and had been together at sea almost uninterrupted since. He had rarely known the doctor to pace like this, however, nor to look so preoccupied and worried.

Not that Tom blamed him. If he hadn't been so distracted by the situation with Lady Evelyn, he would have been just as worried about Captain Aubrey long before this point. There was something to be said for a modicum of perspective: as confused as he was by Lady Evelyn, his circumstances were far, far less threatening than the ones in which Captain Aubrey currently found himself.

"We ought never to have left him alone," Will murmured, looking anguished. "We ought to have been watching him."

Tom nodded in agreement. "If only I hadn't been…" he trailed off, unable to accurately summarize his encounter with Lady Evelyn. He rephrased, settling upon "If only I had never left the ballroom."

"Please," Dr. Maturin began quietly, "do not reproach yourselves… Jack ought to have been watching himself, of course. But knowing as I did how unlikely that was, I ought to have been there for him. Instead I chose to remain here to catalogue my specimens from the Galapagos… This is my fault." As stricken as Will and Tom were, the doctor was clearly even more distressed.

"Is there anything to be done?" Tom asked after a moment, vaguely hopeful. If anyone could solve this problem, it was Dr. Maturin.

Discouragingly, that man shook his head. "I think not. Jack is uncertain as to exactly how he and Lady Bethany ended up in the garden together, but the girl is ruined, that is quite clear. And despite his few faults, you know your captain is an honorable man. He will do what is right by her, of course."

Shifting uneasily in his chair, Will posited the question Tom himself had been wondering. "When you say 'ruined', doctor… What precisely are we discussing?"

Dr. Maturin smiled wryly. "You know Captain Aubrey too well to doubt my meaning, Mr. Mowett. Suffice to say she has been rendered wholly unmarriageable, and Jack naturally is duty-bound to offer for her."

Will nodded sagely, immediately comprehending the doctor's meaning. In his innocence, Tom remained confused a few moments longer before understanding dawned. "Surely that is not the case," he protested, somewhat shocked. He knew the captain was something of a rake, despite his love for his betrothed, Miss Williams. And yet he could not imagine that he would so forget himself as to toy with a single woman of good reputation. "Captain Aubrey would never… That is to say, a young unmarried woman, he wouldn't…"

"One would think he would know better," the doctor answered tartly, "and yet it seems he does not." He finally stopped his pacing, adjusting his spectacles before removing them entirely and running one hand agitatedly through his cropped hair. "I only confide this in you, gentlemen, because I require your assistance."

"Of course, doctor," Tom responded immediately as Will nodded his agreement. "Anything we might do to be of help, you have but to name it."

"I need to know where this Lady Bethany Firth resides," he said.

Will and Tom exchanged confused glances. "I believe I have been to her home… I believe I should recognize it," Will offered. "But why do you require this information, if I may ask?"

"Jack isn't going to marry Lady Bethany," the doctor stated calmly. "I am."

**Author's Note**: Oh dear, another cliffhanger. Review if you'd care to find out what happens next…


	11. 10: An Ideal World

**Author's Note: **Please forgive my tardiness in posting this chapter. I wanted to post it at the same time as 11, but 11 is proving difficult to write as I have no Beta to bounce ideas off of. I know what I want to happen in the chapter so I daresay it will resolve itself in time (I plan to be done within the week), but I didn't want you to have to wait any longer for this chapter. It is a little shorter than previous chapters, but it sets up many important things so I hope you enjoy it!

At this point I simply must thank **Paisley**, **MissT**, **Colleen-Marie** and **nightkate** for their wonderfully detailed feedback and continued support! Whenever I get stuck, I just imagine you waiting for the next chapter and the image inspires me. P.S. **nightkate**, this Cressida is for you!

**The Lieutenant and the Lady**

Chapter Ten

_An Ideal World_

"Evie, child, where is your necklace?" Lady Fanshaw's question broke the silence that typically surrounded a dinner _en famille_ in their household.

Surprised, Evie dropped her fork. The clatter it made on her plate seemed disproportionately loud, echoing in the large, nearly empty room. Despite the fact that there were only three people present, her mother always insisted upon using the formal dining room rather than the breakfast parlor.

"I beg your pardon?" Evie responded, hoping her mother would repeat herself and therefore give her more time to come up with some plausible answer. The truth was out of the question, of course, as the truth was she had been forced to give it to Cressida before the horrid girl left earlier in the afternoon.

The thought of it still made her blood boil. She wasn't upset about the necklace, precisely, though she would miss the dainty gold chain with its small garnet heart. No, her anger was self-directed as she remembered the meekness with which she had submitted to Cressida's demand. But what choice had she had? None, of course, as Cressida well knew.

She had waylaid Evie when she'd least expected it, as she was watching Lieutenant Mowett's carriage trundle away down the cobblestone street, Mr. Pullings sequestered with his friend inside of it. Watching them leave, she'd been too preoccupied with her feelings of regret and relief to notice Cressida sidling up next to her. Even as she'd contemplated the strange perverseness in her character that had caused her to spend the entire afternoon At Home conversing with Mr. Mowett while attempting to ignore Mr. Pullings, Miss Newton had interrupted her thoughts.

"As often as I castigate you for your looks," she'd begun, sky blue eyes examining said looks with pronounced distaste before adding "-and please do not mistake me, they are simply atrocious- your real problem is that you are completely incompetent." Her perfect cupid's bow mouth quirked in secret amusement as she'd looked over Evie's shoulder.

Evie had responded by turning away from the window with a glare. "Are you still here?" she'd demanded, secure in her rudeness as her mother was on the far end of the sitting room.

"Manners, Lady Evelyn," Cressida had reprimanded lazily. "I suspect it must be the most amusing thing in the world, watching the two of you watch each other. He stares at you a great deal, you know, though I cannot imagine why. Remembering last night, perhaps, and laughing to himself."

At this remark, Evie had balled her hands into tight little fists, longing to make some retort. But there was none to be made; she had thought the same thing herself, after all.

Miss Newton had either ignored or genuinely not noticed Evie's anger. She'd shrugged, a bored look on her angelic face. "If you were not so incompetent, you would turn all of this to your advantage, leverage your dowry and social status, your father's position, to bind him to you. But you will not, of course," she'd continued, sounding both pleased and puzzled. "Your mother will have you wed to Lieutenant Mowett- she is nearly as incompetent as you are, so very obvious- and perhaps I shall set my cap for Mr. Pullings after all."

Evie had been unable to prevent herself from gasping with something akin to outrage. Cressida didn't want him, she knew. She merely wanted to toy with him, to hurt Evie because she could, and perhaps hurt a good man in the process. There was no doubt in Evie's mind that Cressida could entice him. Surely there was no door in all the civilized world, including a door into Lieutenant Pullings' heart, that beauty such as Cressida's could fail to open.

"Or perhaps not. Lord knows I've no notion of trailing after some half-pay lieutenant stranded on the beach," Miss Newton had concluded with a shrug. "Perhaps I shall simply direct my energies towards promoting your match with Mr. Mowett. I have not yet decided. Now, be a good girl and give me your necklace."

Once more, Evie had gaped with shock. That final demand had made no sense, and she could hardly reconcile it with the conversation that had come before. "I beg your pardon?" This question was uttered without the indignation that ought to have colored it, purely because she could not comprehend Cressida's demand well enough to be indignant.

Cressida had smiled, her small, even white teeth glimmering menacingly. "I said 'be a good girl and give me your necklace'. It is far too pretty to look well on you. In fact I daresay I am doing you a favor; the necklace makes you look even more unattractive by comparison. But perhaps you'd prefer to keep it while I go have a quick discussion with your mother?"

The humiliating memory faded as Lady Fanshaw's strident voice recalled Evie to reality. "I asked you a question, Evelyn, and I expect an answer. Your necklace. Where is it?"

"I- ah- I lent it to… Miss Newton," Evie choked out, gaze fixed on her half-empty plate, praying to God that he would not strike her dead where she sat for telling such a ridiculous falsehood.

"Indeed?" her mother asked, voice thoughtful. She pursed her lips as she considered this answer. "I approve," she determined finally. "I quite enjoy Mrs. Newton's company, and her daughter is such a ladylike young woman. She is certainly a suitable companion for you. No title like Lady Bethany, of course, but she is related to some of the highest families in the land. You show uncommon good sense, child, ingratiating yourself with her."

Evie had never swallowed so many scathing retorts in her life as she had in this single day. Unable to trust herself to answer, she simply nodded.

"I have a splendid idea," her mother continued after a moment. "I have already decided that we shall invite Lieutenant Mowett on an excursion to Astley's. I had thought it was perhaps too bold, but we shall invite Miss Newton, as well as Lady Bethany and Lord Casewell, and then it shall be a party, nothing untoward about such an invitation at all." The gloating expression on Lady Fanshaw's face was nearly too much for her daughter to bear.

She was quite pleased to be able to point out the flaw in the plan. "The numbers will be uneven, Mother. Two gentlemen and three ladies. Surely that will never do."

"I daresay Lieutenant Mowett will bring Mr. Pullings," Lady Fanshaw muttered darkly. "Really, someone must tell the poor man that it is not at all the thing, having a horrid social climber nipping at one's heels in such a manner."

"Come now, my dear," Admiral Fanshaw protested mildly and seemingly out of nowhere. Evie was shocked to discover her father had been paying attention at all. "Lieutenant Pullings is a distinguished war hero, and quite gentlemanly. He'll be Master and Commander soon enough, perhaps even Post Captain, once I've had my say at the Admiralty."

It was nearly impossible, but Evie managed to prevent herself from shooting her mother a triumphant glance that clearly stated 'I told you so'.

"An epaulette or two does not a gentleman make," Lady Fanshaw responded dismissively. "And of course he's no good for Miss Newton, but he'd at least make up the number. Yes, I think this is our best course of action."

Evie could not imagine how anyone might think that adding the stunningly gorgeous Miss Newton to any social gathering would serve to show herself to advantage, but she did not voice this concern. After all, she had no interest in Mr. Mowett. Perhaps, if she were very lucky, he would find himself entranced with Miss Newton (poor man) and then she might be able to converse at greater length with Mr. Pullings. She had finally come to regret, very deeply, the fact that she had not spoken to him at all that afternoon. But how could she have? He was so very handsome, she so very plain, and she had made such a fool out of herself the night before.

She forced herself to ignore the fact that the situation would be exactly the same if ever they ended up at Astley's together. He would still be blindingly handsome, she would still be the exact opposite, and her embarrassment would certainly not have faded. Additionally, she forced herself to ignore the fact that Cressida was much more likely to do her best to entrance Mr. Pullings as a way to torture her than converse with Mr. Mowett as Evie might wish.

Yes, she ignored all this, and allowed herself to imagine an ideal world where everything was as it ought to be. She would wear one of her new gowns, the forest green changeable silk one, perhaps, the one that made her eyes look deep and mysterious, and she would refuse to wear a cap, and she would be brave enough to converse with Mr. Pullings without once thinking of the fiasco in the garden. Lord Casewell and Miss Newton would fall into the Thames, naturally, and Beth and Mr. Mowett would leave Evie alone with her handsome lieutenant. For one night, perhaps, all would be right with the world.

A voice of reason in the back of her mind was attempting to caution her to be wary, screaming that this pathetic infatuation with a man so far above her in looks and so far below her in station could only end in disappointment. But she ignored that as well.

...

To Be Continued! Up next Stephen and Lady Bethany: will he or won't he? Dun dun DUNNNNN!

P.S. Reviews are love, and very helpful as I work on this tricky chapter!


	12. 11: A Shower of French Louis d'Or

**Author's Note**: Bet you thought I forgot about you, didn't you? Fear not! I present a superlong chapter for your reading pleasure! As always, thanks so much to my beloved readers (especially **nightkate** and **MissT**) for your splendid and constructive reviews. Keep 'em coming, they motivate me like nothing else!

**P.S.** A louis d'or is a French coin, a nice heavy gold one. They were worth quite a lot during the Napoleonic Wars, even more than their face value, because banknotes were a newfangled invention and inflation was a real concern. Also, many banks were unsound and collapsed, making their banknotes worthless. So nice heavy gold coins were totally the way to go.

**Warning**: This chapter contains minor spoilers for Post Captain and a potentially major spoiler for H.M.S. Surprise (though I've twisted the event to suit my own purpose).

Chapter Eleven

_An Entire Shower of French Louis d'Or_

Tom stared down at the chessboard before him, at the beautifully carved alabaster and black marble pieces that represented opposing armies. He was both winning and losing as he was playing against himself, and the effort of planning an optimal strategy for both the black and white pieces was slowly but surely causing a dull throbbing to pulse just behind his eyes. It was his only option, however. Will had flatly refused to join him, since he hated chess and had never been very good at it. Instead, he had chosen to look out the window of the small parlor they had fled to by mutual consent after Captain Aubrey's appearance. Said appearance had been damnably untimely; he'd entered mere moments after Dr. Maturin had declared he'd marry Lady Bethany in the captain's stead, and he was clearly less than pleased by it. Unwilling to stand witness to any heated exchange of words by their superiors, the two lieutenants had excused themselves almost immediately.

That had been hours ago, Tom supposed, yet the discussion that had begun with their exit was still ongoing. He could hear the steady rise and fall of voices just beyond the door, though the tone was low enough that he could make out no words or phrases. Not that he was eavesdropping, of course. But there was no point in denying that he was curious to learn what decisions were being made. His own opinions on the subject were rather like his black and white pieces in his travesty of a chess game: completely opposed to one another, and giving him a headache.

"You ought not to look so confused, considering you're playing yourself," Will observed wryly from his position by the window. The light had apparently faded from the sky while Tom wasn't paying attention, and all he could see of his friend's face was his profile as the single candle in the parlor cast flickering shadows across it. But Tom had had years to learn Will's every expression, and could tell that the superficial amusement on his face overlay something much more serious.

"I'm not confused," he protested mildly, "not about chess, at least."

Will smiled, and again Tom could tell that it was a veneer, a conscious effort on his friend's part to cover the expression that would reveal his thoughts. "You never are; it's very vexing."

"Surely it's not my formidable skill at chess that's vexing you now?" Tom prompted gently.

"Who says I'm vexed at all? Also, is 'formidable' really the correct word? 'Serviceable' might be better…" Will teased with another superficial smile, clearly attempting to distract him from his question.

Tom was not easily distracted. "Perhaps," he acknowledged briefly (and falsely, as "formidable" was certainly the word) before continuing on. "But tell me, what is troubling you? And don't say 'nothing', if you please. I know better."

Sensing his friend's unwillingness to be put off, Will abandoned his attempts to do so. He crossed the room, abandoning his post for the first time since they'd entered the parlor, and sank into the chair facing Tom's. This put him in control of the white pieces on the board, though he paid no attention to that fact. "This business with the captain distresses me, of course," he admitted. "I know it distresses you too. But I do wish they'd cease their discussion on the subject; it is so utterly pointless."

"How so?" This was not the answer he had expected, or not completely the answer he had expected. "I suppose you mean it is pointless because the captain will never allow the doctor to sacrifice himself in such a way?"

Will shook his head. "No, not at all. It is pointless because the exchange is far too uneven. Lady Bethany would never agree… It would not be in her interest to do so. And it would be dishonorable because of that."

The headache that had been gestating during his frustrating chess game came to life as Tom tried to comprehend Will's meaning. "I suspect this must be one of those things I would understand were I of your background."

Will considered this before shrugging. "Perhaps. It seems very obvious to me… The difference in their stations, appearances, situations… Please do not mistake me," he hastened to add before Tom could protest. "I value Dr. Maturin as highly as any man who has ever been treated by him, and my respect for him is limitless. But in the eyes of Society, he is nothing compared to the captain. He is illegitimate, Catholic and engaged in a profession, which naturally the upper classes look down upon. Captain Aubrey, on the other hand, is quite respectably upper-class and a war hero."

"You and I both know that Dr. Maturin is no less of a hero," Tom reminded Will quietly. Both friends were momentarily absorbed in memories of a nighttime escape from Minorca several years ago, of the doctor broken and bleeding in Captain Aubrey's arms.

"Neither of us knows that officially," Will returned after a moment, his expression newly grave. "And Society even less so. And if they did, it wouldn't matter. His brand of heroism is considered ungentlemanly in their world."

Tom shook his head, face etched with lines of confusion. "I shall never understand Society, no matter how many times you attempt to explain its intricacies to me."

But that wasn't entirely true, of course. Tom had understood the concept perfectly well the night before, as related to himself and the situation with Lady Evelyn. Unused to Society as he was, he had known instinctively that he was no kind of match for a woman of her status. Somehow he had never thought to apply the same analysis to Dr. Maturin, however. All other considerations aside, Tom knew that the doctor was quite wealthy, perhaps as wealthy as Will, and in his mind that took precedence over everything else. Perhaps he ascribed more importance to money than he ought, an effect of having been a child in conditions of actual if not abject poverty, of growing into a man who had to literally bleed to earn his pay and then had to squeeze each shilling until it bled as well to support his family. He simply could not imagine any doors remaining closed in the face of a fortune such as Dr. Maturin's.

A sudden unpleasant thought struck him then, distracting him from his conversation with Will and his concerns about the captain and the doctor: if the doors of Society were barred even to men of means, what then was to be his fate? Would he forever be out of places amongst his fellow officers, purely because of his birth? Even between pay and prize money, it was unlikely he'd ever be wealthy, but he had thought it a distant possibility, and had thought it might help him to belong, or to feel as though he did. He had thought that with enough hard work and enough luck, he could perhaps make enough money to… What? Earn a place somewhere other than the dirt-floored cottage in which he'd been born and raised? A place somewhere other than the First Lieutenant's cabin on the gun deck, or (please God) the Captain's sacred spot on the quarterdeck? Where else was there?

Strangely, Lady Evelyn's face flashed inside his mind as though in answer, his memory surely painting a picture far kinder than reality. The details were all correct, he knew, but they couldn't be, because in his mind they added up to an image far more pleasing than they should. It was his unfathomable attraction to her coloring his remembrance, he supposed, but that was neither here nor there. For the brief second that the memory of her inhabited his thoughts, he felt an overwhelming anger at the knowledge that nothing on earth, including, apparently, an entire shower of French louis d'or, would ever make him worthy to aspire to her hand.

This thought, and the anger attached to it, shocked him so completely that it was forced out of his mind by a wave of sheer incredulity.

"Tom? Are you even listening?" Will demanded, his voice like a lifeline thrown to pull him out of the confusing maelstrom his thoughts had suddenly become. Tom seized upon it with the gratitude of a man who could not swim.

"I was not," he admitted, expression and voice both deeply apologetic. "Forgive me. What were you saying?"

"Just that I wish there were some way…" Will mused thoughtfully. If he had been angry with Tom's inattention, he had forgotten his pique quickly enough.

"Some way to what?" Tom asked, as much to keep his own thoughts at bay as to understand Will's.

"Do you remember the first time we saw Miss Williams?" His friend's change of subject was abrupt and seemingly unrelated.

Tom nodded, the memory rising easily to his mind, thankfully submerging all others. "Of course," he answered. "It was during the Peace, was it not? Captain Aubrey and the doctor had rented that lovely house, and we were invited to stay off and on." It had been one of the happiest intervals of his life, despite the uncertainty of his future. He had been only a midshipman then, a master's mate with no commission and no half-pay; the Peace had meant he had no real living and would have to find a new profession. But somehow that hadn't mattered at Melbury Lodge, not with half the old _Sophies_ as servants keeping the house in fine naval fashion and his mentor and hero there to assure him that old Boney wouldn't give up so easily.

Will smiled, clearly enjoying the same memories. "Yes, and the captain arranged that ball… I forget what it was for, a celebration of something… There were streamers in the ballroom, I recall."

"Yes," Tom murmured. At the time, it had been the grandest affair he'd ever attended, and he'd been as nervous then as he had been approaching Admiral Fanshaw's residence earlier. Perhaps more so, as he'd been far younger and far less certain of himself.

"I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," Will confided with a laugh. "So delicate and blonde, like an angel, and her skin so pale and smooth. She danced with me twice, and I thought myself the luckiest man in the room."

"I remember you preening like a fool, in point of fact," Tom teased.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Will countered, grinning, before the humor slowly faded from his face. "I've always felt a fondness for her, for being so kind to me then. And I hate to think of her disappointment over this mistake the captain has made."

Tom sighed. "I know that, and I feel the same. But there is nothing we can do. The captain at least is man enough to accept his mistakes, to take responsibility for them. That is honorable, Will."

"Perhaps," Will acknowledged. "But in the process he must end his engagement with Miss Williams, which a gentleman is absolutely forbidden to do."

"Is he?" Tom asked, surprised. "I had no idea."

Will affirmed his statement with a meaningful nod of his head. "He is. It will be much talked of, and Miss Williams will be something of a laughingstock. Not to mention the captain will be greatly shamed by it. Lord, Tom, it is such a mess!"

"Given that information I'm rather surprised Captain Aubrey has not accepted the doctor's plan," Tom offered pensively.

"Perhaps he realizes, as I do, that the match would never be countenanced." Will sighed, his face clearly showing his frustration. "How I wish there were something we could do."

"Well, if the doctor isn't good enough for Lady Bethany, God knows I would not be," Tom pointed out self-deprecatingly. He then wished rather fervently that he hadn't, as doing so only reminded him of his ineligibility for Lady Evelyn as well, not to mention the insanity of caring about such ineligibility.

His friend shot him a look of annoyance. "You're quite good enough for anyone, Tom, if only they knew it. But yes, in the eyes of Society, you would not be… _You_ would not be…"

"Yes, I know I would not be, thank you for reminding me," Tom muttered, wishing his friend would stop forcing his mind back to that subject. Back to Lady Evelyn.

"_You_ would not be," Will murmured again. "But Tom… I would. In the eyes of Society, I'm an improvement over Captain Aubrey in fact. I'll be a viscount someday, and my family is indecently wealthy."

"But…" Tom protested in confusion. "But you told me not three hours ago that you had no intention of marrying."

Will shrugged. "Of course I hadn't. Bachelors never do. But I daresay I'll have to marry eventually, and Lady Bethany is as good as any other titled woman of privilege. Better, perhaps; she is quite attractive, as I recall."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Tom could hardly believe the turn the conversation had taken. "You know nothing about this girl save that she was rash enough to engage in intimate acts with a man she barely knew."

"Yes, a fact that makes me inclined to like her," Will responded with amusement.

"Do be serious," Tom admonished. "What if she should be carrying Captain Aubrey's child? Surely that's a consideration for someone with a viscountcy to worry about."

Will looked thoughtful for a moment before dismissing his friend's argument. "It's not especially likely that she would be," he pointed out. "Besides, amongst the upper classes, such things are hardly unheard of. Affairs are the rule, not the exception."

"The captain will never allow it," Tom stated. "Dr. Maturin might have persuaded him, based purely on their long friendship. But he feels responsible for both of us, and he'll never allow you to do such a thing."

"Then we shan't tell him about it." He looked at his friend, face completely serious. "Tom, please. Captain Aubrey is my friend, my mentor, and I have the greatest respect for him. Furthermore, what I said before is true. I shall be forced to marry eventually, undoubtedly someone not of my own choosing. Knowing this, why should I not marry where it might do the most good for my friend? My family can certainly find no fault with her."

Tom looked at his friend in utter disbelief. He sounded so certain, so determined, and… Well, so persuasive, really. "Will, you're simply not thinking clearly. What you are contemplating… It makes no sense."

"I disagree," Will protested calmly. "It makes perfect sense. You are the one who refuses to see the logic of it. Lady Bethany will make a perfectly unexceptionable wife, I daresay… My family can certainly have no objections to her."

"But…" Tom paused, trying to organize his thoughts into a persuasive argument. "But Will, should you not wish to marry for love? What if you fall in love after marrying Lady Bethany? What if she makes you unhappy?"

Will gave Tom an almost pitying look. "Lord, Tom, I've never suspected I might marry for love. I've always known I wouldn't. It's not something you'd understand, I suppose. If she makes me unhappy, I'll simply go to sea and never come back. Lord knows I might always be knocked on the head and make her a widow."

"I wish you would take this seriously," Tom snapped.

"Again, I am only stating facts," Will responded with frustrating equanimity. "I take it all quite seriously, I assure you. And I do not understand why this should upset you so."

"I'm not upset," Tom denied. "I'm simply attempting to make you see reason. A decision such as this is far too important to make in this fashion, for this reason. You can't live your life for Captain Aubrey, no matter how much you respect him."

Will shook his head impatiently. "You cannot tell me that you would not do the same for him if you could."

"I owe him more than you do!" Tom cried. His commission, his life, his past, present and future… There was nothing he didn't owe to Captain Aubrey.

"I disagree," Will responded with great dignity. "And it doesn't matter, anyway. My mind is made up, Tom. You know me well enough to know I'll do this with or without your assistance. Rather like the first time Captain Aubrey came aboard the _Sophie_, and you refused to help me hide those two girls in the cable-tier."

"Because it could have been a disaster," he reminded his friend, "as could this be."

"And yet it wasn't," Will countered. "Nor shall this be. And even if it is, shouldn't you love to say 'I told you so'?"

Of course he would, Tom thought with resignation. But not nearly as much as he'd love to have no part in any of this. Unfortunately, it seemed he had little choice.

"Your soul to the devil, William Mowett," Tom muttered. He tried to sound angry, but he and Will both knew his tone was one of defeat.

...

To Be Continued. I'd just like to make one thing perfectly clear... Touching as all your pleas not to make Stephen marry Lady Bethany were, I didn't heed them. This has always been the plan. There may come a time when you wish I had planned something else for our heroic doctor... But on the plus side, he's going to get his own story once this one is done...

Review, please! Pretty please? I'm going to try to get the next chapter out much more quickly but a few good reviews would help me ever so much!

Up next, more Evie and Tom (finally, all this plot nonsense really gets in the way of the romance). Also, ponies.


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